Shots in the Dark
by RainbowNoms
Summary: The humans finally pulled it off. Finally, they figured out how to break Einstein's speed limit. Unfortunately, when the test probes go AWOL, the humans scramble to find out where in the vast universe they wound up. However, someone else already did...
1. Prologue

_**First off, I'd like to clarify something. I'm not only here to enjoy the fandom. I WANT feedback on my stories, even if I don't say it. And I say this because the one-shot I posted last month, The Performance, got enough views for me to be content, but not a single review. Whether or not you want to follow or favorite is really up to whether or not you truly like the story for its plot or ideas. But, I want to be a better writer. And staying silent does not help me become a better writer.**_

_**That being said, I'm gonna change things up on you guys and write something a little more serious. So enjoy my latest release, Shots in the Dark.**_

* * *

CORNERIA CITY

_So…they've finally found one, _James McCloud thought, taking a sip of beer.

He sat on his balcony in the cool evening air, staring up at the sky. His eyes were on the dim yellow star about twenty degrees west of Katina. Condensation off the beer bottle began to dampen his paw fur.

_I guess it was only a matter of time._

His thoughts were on the same page as practically every other person in Lylat. When the news broke around 1045 in the morning, all of Corneria had gone into sudden silence. It had answered one of life's most pressing questions, but begged everyone to ask so many more.

The broadcast had opened up with one simple line:

"We Lylatians are not alone in the universe."

James lowered his gaze. The lights of downtown Corneria City continued to glow as they had for the last few thousand years. From many windows, another pinprick of yellow light shined outward. Another beacon for these aliens to see through their own telescopes.

The city itself seemed subdued, though. Fewer cars were honking. Definitely fewer lights were shining. Fewer planes were ferrying people between planets. No one was out walking. Everything was…serene.

James took another drag of beer.

"System 77," they called it. Last night, they had picked up signals indicating life down at Canids Cornerian Air Base (CAB). Not just life, though. There were plenty of places out in deep space with microbial life. Those little buggers seemed to thrive in the harshest of environments.

No, this was a special kind of life.

This was _sentient _life.

James had no idea how they could tell the difference between sentient life and microbial life at distances like that. It didn't much concern him, though. He was a pilot, not a scientist. He knew combat, not exobiology.

Still, it was crazy to finally know that they weren't alone in the universe. Would they find us and say hi? Would they war with us out of fear? Would the two races meet at all anytime soon?

The eggheads at Canids CAB say not anytime soon.

From their data, only one planet in the system was inhabited. It was the third planet from their star. The scientists affectionately named it "Planet 77-3."

And it actually looked a lot like Corneria.

In an attempt to quell fears, the head scientist called the system "underdeveloped" and that "no visible space travel was seen, other than primitive satellites." That didn't stop the Lylatnet from running wild with depictions of aliens, to new stories about intersystem war, to videos about everything from 77-3's society, to its progress, to the supposed idiots who live there.

James wasn't the type to judge what he hasn't seen. He was content with the knowledge that other sentient life exists out there. Even with its couple trillions of inhabitants, Lylat had gotten lonely since the car-bombing incident.

He missed Vixy. Very much.

But if Lylat could find another system out there, who's to say James won't find love again?

Vixy's memory did. It told him that every second of every day. James let a tear slide from his eye down to his muzzle.

Hell, the only thing keeping James sane was his son, Fox. Had Vixy offered to take Fox to school that morning instead of riding the bus…James doubted if he would have lived much longer after that.

James downed the rest of the bottle. He tossed it carelessly aside. It clanged against the wooden balcony before coming to rest.

As if on cue, small footsteps approached from behind, waking James from his newfound stupor.

"Daddy," 7-year-old Fox began. "I'm gonna go to bed…"

James looked over his shoulder. A practically shrunken James looked back, the emerald eyes shining even in the low light. Fox's left paw clutched a small die-cast toy Arwing. He was looking at his father expectantly, as if waiting for some response to his decision to go to bed.

James smiled warmly at his son.

"Sure, kit," James agreed. "Let's go to bed."

And with that one sentence, all thoughts of System 77 were gone like a car that went over a cliff.


	2. The Time Has Come

**_A/N: Thanks for the support, guys. It means a lot. It's just a terrible feeling to watch something you poured a lot of effort into get ignored like a pathetic hobo in downtown New York. Now that that's behind me, though, enjoy the true first chapter of Shots in the Dark._**

**_Special thanks to 10133p0p for beta reading. You're awesome._**

* * *

Tonopah, Nevada

Colonel Mason Dimon, USAF, heard his alarm go off, but he didn't need it. He was already wide awake.

_Today's finally the big day. Should this test work, there's no telling how many doors will open for humanity…and how much more money I'll be paid, _Dimon had thought over and over.

Normally, Dimon would have just spent the night at the base. It wasn't uncommon for people of his rank to spend the night at their bases right before dates like today. Dimon, though, through some inner intuition, decided to go back home to his Sleep Number bed, and deal with waking up at four in the morning, Mountain Time.

Maybe he thought he _would _be able to sleep if he was at home; away from the action, in his own comfy bed, clearing his mind with some _Family Guy _right before nodding off.

However, sleep was not in the equation.

After shutting off the alarm, he stared at the date shown on his clock, making sure it was real. It read August 7th, 2018.

Dimon rolled over onto his other side, looked at the moonlit wall for a few seconds, and then rolled back over.

The clock still said August 7th, 2018.

Further testing was required, of course, but a more pressing matter entered Dimon's mind. Nature was calling him, and the phone had already rung thrice.

Finally, he reached up and switched on the desk lamp on his nightstand. The small room was suddenly bathed in a dim yellow light. Dimon threw off his green camouflage sheets, stretched for a short moment, and stood up. He straightened out his night clothes, which consisted of just a white T-shirt and boxers with the American flag on them, then walked towards the bathroom.

It was a short trip, nothing more than opening his bedroom door, taking two steps, and turning right. The simple, white-tiled bathroom beckoned to him like a mother beckons her child to refrain from crossing the street when there's traffic.

The acidic white light burned Dimon's eyes for a moment, seeing as they were still adjusted to the dark. He stumbled around for way too long, given that the toilet was just a straight shot from the doorway.

_Thank God my men can't see me here, _Dimon thought as he finally found the can and dropped his boxers.

While waiting for his business to consummate, his mind wandered back to the impending warp-drive test, set to occur in roughly five hours.

Of course, it could have happened much earlier than late 2018. In fact, the original date of the test was June 14th, 2015. The problem had been, is now, and always will be, getting the funds from the Pentagon without the general populace knowing what the money will really be used for.

Glenn Beck had blown the whistle on these supposedly misplaced funds as far back as 2010. Nobody really listened to him until after Obama was reelected. As a result, the debt continued to soar, reaching $21 trillion as early as December 2014. S&P downgraded the US's credit rating once again to just a single A, sending the financial market into havoc.

That's when people realized they'd had enough of big government. EVERYTHING was cut. Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security, you name it, it was cut. The Department of Housing and Development and the Department of Education were eliminated entirely. On top of that, every government agency was required to send in accurate budget reports for all expenses.

And therein lies the problem. If the budget reports are found to be inaccurate, the faulting party loses _half _of its budget come next fiscal year.

Thus, Project Columbus was delayed for a couple years until the Pentagon could lie without getting caught. Dimon found it amazing how long it took, given how easily politicians can lie in every other given situation.

None of it was of any concern anymore, though. Because Dimon would lead the testing of the first human device to travel faster than the speed of light. And he would do it today.

The toilet was flushed, the hands were washed, and the colonel was off to the kitchen, not even stopping to look at himself in the mirror.

Dimon didn't want to look in the mirror anyway. He knew what he'd see. He'd see a bald, blue-eyed bastard with all the approachability of roadkill. It made him a hell of a good Army commander, but left no room for friends, much less lovers.

He knew he was a selfish son of a bitch. He knew he would live alone and die alone. And he was perfectly happy with that.

Dimon loaded his coffeemaker with the strong Starbucks blend which was his favorite. The morning news played softly on the small 15 inch TV on the island. His ears might as well have been filled with cotton, because he didn't hear a word. Besides, there was never any news in this God-forsaken desert that was southern Nevada.

As the coffee brewed, Dimon munched on a Poptart. He glanced out of the window above the sink, to his left. The first hints of daylight were stretching over the horizon.

Dimon has considered getting a cat to have a little companionship, but pets were about as hard to come by in rural Nevada as rain was. It would be of little use, though. The cat would wind up dying of starvation because of Dimon's selfish nature.

The coffeemaker beeped as it finished brewing. Dimon took some cream out of the fridge and mixed it in with the coffee. Even if his heart was black, his coffee couldn't be.

Knowing the hot mug contents wouldn't be drinkable for at least ten more minutes, Dimon left the wooden-floored kitchen in favor of his carpeted bedroom. Remembering his little test, he checked the clock again.

It still said August 7th, 2018.

_If this is a dream, it's one hell of a realistic one._

Dimon dressed himself in the standard fatigues for the day. There was really no point in hanging out in the empty house with nothing to do, so as soon as he finished dressing himself, he poured his coffee into a travel mug from the living room and stepped outside into the cold desert air.

The colonel knew he would need his coffee. His commute was three and a half hours long. The worst part of it was that it was the shortest route he could manage. The price of home comforts was a steep one.

He opened his garage behind the house by typing in the code "16251." The whirring sound broke the desert silence like a dropped light bulb. The full effect of Dimon's insomnia was starting to weigh on him. He took a sip of his coffee in an attempt to fight back.

He lazily entered his silver Chevy Volt. The travel mug was clumsily placed in the cupholder, and Dimon started his car. He checked the small clock on the dashboard.

_0430. That should put me at the base at 0800…right on time._

Dimon backed out of the garage with a smug smile on his face. The timing of his leaving turned out to be impeccable. And traffic was no worry. Bitch, please, this is rural Nevada.

His route was memorized. Get to US 6 West, then NV 375 South, then Southwestern Pond Road to Back Gate Road, and then the security checks began.

As the Nevada countryside rolled by his windows, Dimon found himself fantasizing about the future again.

_I really hope the guys have this figured out. I wouldn't admit it to anyone, but my income hinges on their smarts. None of this faster-than-light travel gibberish makes any sense to me anyway. I'm a soldier, not a scientist._

In the extended silence (Dimon still didn't trust the radio stations to play decent music, even though Justin Bieber died of cancer years ago), his brain ran across a possibility that he had been too blinded by anticipation to see earlier. What if it failed? What if something _did _go wrong?

_Well, then, that would just be absolutely fucking fantastic, wouldn't it? Everybody in D.C. would be on my ass for the rest of my life. Thank God they made an extra probe in case something goes wrong. The design's a little weird, though. Whose idea was it to make the backup probe split into ten separate transponders?_

Once again, the techies had their reasons, and Dimon was just another soldier.

Meanwhile, the sun staged its own launch over the horizon, illuminating the road in front of Dimon with a dim orange light. The sign for Southwestern Pond Road reflected the light directly into the colonel's eyes, and he put his hand up to his face in an attempt to block it. As a result, he nearly overshot his turn.

The tires screeched under the strain of the sharp, speedy turn, but his Volt was still able to pull off the feat.

_Huh. It would've been just fucking perfect if I had gotten into an accident on this most important day of my life._

Resorting to reflex, Dimon tried to take a sip of coffee. All he got was warm air.

_Yeah, that's right. I already finished my coffee._

The rest of the drive up to the checkpoints was nothing but a blur to Dimon. He himself was surprised he didn't fall asleep and veer off the road in his stupor. He only jerked out of it when he hit Back Gate Road and one of the many perimeter patrols that the base employed signaled him to stop.

Dimon complied. A tall, muscular man stood at his driver's window, assault rifle hung around his shoulders. A quick glance told the colonel that the safety was off.

Dimon rolled down his window.

"Name?" the guard commanded.

"Colonel Mason Dimon, USAF," he replied un-enthusiastically.

"Papers, please."

Dimon handed the guy his ID and clearance paperwork. He rifled through the papers, holding them to the sunlight to check for the hidden seal, much like a five dollar bill. The same was done with his government ID. The whole ritual took five minutes this time, a bit shorter than usual, but still five minutes Dimon wouldn't get back.

"Alright, colonel, everything seems to be in order. Continue on," he said, handing back the papers and giving a quick salute.

_One down…three to go, _Dimon sighed as he pulled away from the Jeep. Each level had an increasing level of security, and therefore, stole even more time. His spirits weren't dampened, though. Because today was the day.

Out here, the road was nothing more than a dirt strip carved into the landscape. The many mountains and hills shielded this base from outside scrutiny. The roads close to the base were also nameless.

_Nameless and lonely…just like me, _Dimon remarked. _At least until this test succeeds._

A small shack grew out of the horizon as Dimon reflected on his life. It was the second checkpoint.

"Hey, John," Dimon said to the bored-looking attendant. He shook himself awake when he noticed the Chevy Volt idling in front of the gate.

"Oh, morning, Mr. Dimon," he said, snapping into a salute.

"No need today, John, just do your security shit so I can get into the launch room as fast as possible."

"Right, today's the big test, isn't it?"

"Yup." Dimon handed the man his papers.

He rifled through them just like the perimeter guard, putting each one under a black light instead of holding them up to the sun.

"Alright, sir, your papers are correct, but you know the next step."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Dimon chided as he held his left hand out of the window. John held out what at first glance would look like a grey iPhone. In reality, it was a fingerprint scanner. Level 2 security.

Level 2 clearance could get you into the hangars and grant you runway access. Most Pentagon inspectors got temporary Level 2 clearance.

The small grey touchscreen beeped happily and turned green, which verified Dimon's identity for Level 2.

"Excellent. You may proceed, Mr. Dimon, and good luck today," John said, raising the simple bar gate across the road. The colonel pulled away without a word, leaving the small shack in the dust.

The third checkpoint was about a half-mile down the road. Instead of a small, air-conditioned shack, it was a squat metal building. A chain-link fence gate adorned with copious amounts of barbed wire blocked further passage.

Pulling up to the third checkpoint was like pulling up to a drive-through. Except the building was cold, grey metal. And the window was decorated with chicken wire.

Unfortunately, the service was also like that of a fast food drive-through. Incompetent and slow.

Dimon had no more patience left. He rapped on the glass quickly and with determination.

"Hey! Get your asses over here! Look at your goddamn security cameras!" Dimon shouted at the glass. "Don't make me reprimand your sorry asses!"

An angry looking corporal stumbled into the window, Glock 21C in hand.

"Geez, can't a guy take a bathroom break in this godforsaken empty wasteland without someone needing clearance? _Sir?_" The last part he added with noted contempt.

"Watch it, kid. I could have you thrown out into the desert without any supplies or a job," Dimon hissed back. He soon realized it wasn't his best comeback, but it was already said. The corporal rolled his eyes and took Dimon's papers with a quick, decisive swipe.

The same overview and blacklight-inspecting ensued. Another fingerprint scan was taken. When both matched, the corporal silently grabbed the retina scanner and handed it to Dimon. It was nothing more than a grey box about the size of a textbook. Two small circular indents were on the front next to a large readout.

This was the hallmark of Level 3 security. Level 3 clearance was what most personnel had around the base, and it was enough to get you into every building save one. That last one, positioned on the western outskirts of the base, was where Dimon was headed.

He stuck his eyes into the indents. Two red lines crossed his vision from top to bottom, searching for the blood vessels behind Dimon's eyes.

He pulled his eyes out of the indents and waited. Soon enough, the retina scanner beeped happily and turned green, just like the fingerprint scanner. He handed it back to the guard.

The corporal gave Dimon one last sneer before opening the gate and letting him through.

_God, what the hell was up his ass? _Dimon wondered, increasing his speed for the last time.

People couldn't park anywhere near the Level 4 building. If you had Level 3 or better clearance, you parked in an underground complex in the dead center of the base. If you had Level 2 clearance, you parked in a hanger set aside for parking space. This meant that Dimon had to walk through the already boiling-hot sunlight to make it to his building.

Dimon's only compensation was a water fountain right inside the doors.

The parking garage was only one story above ground, and it was covered entirely by a white-painted, metal material which prevented heat from getting inside. Dimon drove up to the (thankfully automated) gate and stuck his ID inside a slot. The machine clocked him in, spit out his ID and a parking sticker, and opened the gate, back to a simple bar.

The garage was bathed in boring yellow light. Almost every different type of car lined the sides. The colors blurred together as Dimon rushed to the lowest level; the area reserved for officer parking.

The anticipation was driving Dimon crazy. The test was only an hour away.

He found his space already surrounded by two of his closest associates. His Volt fit snugly between them.

Dimon got up and stretched his legs and butt muscles. The air in the parking garage nipped at his fingers, just like any other day.

_Does it always have to be so fucking cold in here? We'd probably save millions just by turning up the fucking thermostat,_ Dimon ranted as he headed towards the elevator. His stomach was playing a game of Twister with his intestines, not only because of anticipation, but also because of hunger.

_Freaking Poptars. Delicious, but not fucking filling at all._

Dimon's attempt to move thoughts away from the test were futile and failing miserably.

_One step at a time, my ass, _Dimon thought as he stepped out of the elevator and into the blinding sun.

* * *

Elkhorn, Nebraska

1300 miles away, Lieutenant Colonel Erick Josefson, USAF, was also on edge. It wasn't because of some test, or anything work related, for that matter. In fact, it was the _lack _of work that was driving Josefson crazy.

_I am sooooo mind-numbingly bored…_ he thought. Try as Josefson might, he couldn't get his mind to wander away from that sentence.

Josefson loved his Air Force duties, even if it was just simple paperwork, flying exercises, or even talking with his squadron in the personnel lounge. He was fiercely loyal to his country and his men.

But in this particular week of August, his men had betrayed him.

They had been on Josefson's behind for a while about his incredible work ethic. The only difference now is that they actually did something about it. The bastards actually went to the Brigadier General and "recommended" that Josefson get vacation leave!

And now he was sitting half-naked in his recliner, watching reruns of _The Price is Right _while drinking copious amounts of orange juice.

_I swear to God, I'm gonna get Parker back for this. Even if it's just a whoopee cushion._

Josefson wondered what the boys at Offutt Air Force Base were doing. Was it a test flight day, or were they just having another one of their Ping-Pong tournaments?

_Let's see…Tuesday, August 7__th__…well, it's a Tuesday, so…Crap, why can't I remember?! Either way, they better be missing me._

He sighed and checked the time on the cable box. It read 9:44 (CDT) in blocky orange numbers.

_Geez, this week of "vacation" is going slow. Can't believe I can't walk back onto that complex until August 13__th__. And I can't believe Parker joked about shooting me on sight if he saw me at the base. That's just not funny._

Josefson tried to clear his mind and refocus on the television. The instant he looked up, he saw an incredibly stupid thing happen on the show, and he couldn't help yelling:

"No! No! You idiot! SEVENTEEN thousand!"

* * *

Edwards AFB Detachment 3, Nevada

"Fifteen minutes, Mr. Dimon," the senior technician said.

"Yes, yes, that will be all," Dimon replied hurriedly. The self-proclaimed nerd scampered out of the small office overlooking the launch room.

The launch room itself was nothing more than a tall, dome-shaped room. Scientists typed away commands on their computers while mechanics made last minute adjustments to the probe before loading it into a repurposed missile silo. An image was projected onto a screen opposite of Dimon's office window. The top fifth was occupied by the countdown clock. The bottom four-fifths was occupied by two graphs, each measuring signal strength over time. Both were flat lines for the time being.

_For the first time in my life, I wish I had a smoke,_ Dimon lamented.

The sound of applause echoed from below.

_Must be loading the probe up, _he reasoned.

The probe was named the X-1492WD. The "X" stood for "experimental", the "WD" stood for "Warp Drive", and the 1492 was a clever homage to Christopher Columbus' discovery of America.

Its job was simple. It would exit Earth's gravitational field, idle for a short period of time, and then it would enter warp drive. The men, not to be outdone, ironically named the warp drive mechanism "Einstein's Booster."

It would run on warp drive for exactly fifteen seconds, stop, turn around, run on warp drive for another fifteen seconds, and hopefully crash down for retrieval not too far from the base.

Fifteen seconds seemed like an arbitrary number to Dimon, but the eggheads had assured the colonel that the amount of time came from grueling causality and distance calculations. He didn't much care, though. All he had to do was let the scientists do their job, and then everyone would get a promotion and handsome pay rise.

After running through all these details in his mind, Dimon looked up at the countdown clock again.

_14 minutes…Should've guessed._

Dimon sighed. This wait was driving him insane. The direct view from his office to the countdown clock didn't help anything, either.

_Fuck it, I'm gonna go down to the floor. Hopefully watching these maggots work like so many little ants will take my mind off the test…for another minute. _Dimon chuckled to himself when his brain added the last three words.

The door led out the back of his office. Dimon went down a set of metal, see-through stairs like the ones in grocery stores to reach the floor.

One of the technicians noticed him. He was about to announce Dimon's presence and force everyone to salute when the colonel hurriedly hushed him.

"That won't be necessary, just keep working," he said.

The technician nodded and sat back down in his chair.

All around the colonel, people in lab coats darted by, checking and re-checking calculations, compiling and re-compiling software, and taking those bathroom breaks people need to take when they get exceedingly nervous. Most gave a nod in acknowledgement upon passing Dimon, then they continued their restless hustle.

Dimon didn't care. This was no time for formalities. This was the time for finalization. This was the time to put under their control every single variable possible.

This was the time for history to be made.

Dimon glanced at the countdown clock. The ever-present blue digits told everybody who could read that the test was a mere ten minutes away.

"Alright," Dimon announced. The hustle and bustle of the numerous scientists and technicians came to a halt. Eighty pairs of eyes now rested upon Dimon's face.

"There is only a sixth of an hour until we finally launch the X-1492WD. It truly has been an arduous road to get here. We put up with the countless delays and bitchings coming from Washington. We put up with the constant money problems thanks to a reborn small-government populace. Yet all of you worked together to build the fastest and arguably most advanced spacecraft in human history. So let's jump that final hurdle with confidence, and bring in a new era of human exploration!"

This short, impromptu motivational speech was received quite well by the group. Applause echoed off the walls of the dome-shaped room. Many scientists got up from their computers and gave Dimon a standing ovation. Most importantly, though, he managed to knock another minute off the countdown.

"Ericson," Dimon called to the lead scientist over the din. "You know what to do. Get ready for the final launch procedures."

Ericson nodded and went back to his desk to collect his notes. Meanwhile, Dimon made his way to his assigned spot next to him. They would stand on a raised platform below Dimon's office, but above the main level. A microphone was already set up so everyone could hear their commands. Like his office window, the projection of the clock and graphs were clearly visible and directly in front of him.

There wasn't anything required to call out until T-minus five minutes. Dimon just liked being prepared. Ericson stood by his side after a short while.

Anyone on the floor looking up at the colonel and the lead scientist couldn't help but remark on the huge difference between them. Dimon was built like a bald basketball player; Ericson like a scrawny twig. Dimon could command a room to silence just by his presence; Ericson couldn't control a crowd if his life depended on it. Night and day; black and white.

Dimon's mind was still a buzz as the clock reached its final five minutes. Every possible scenario, every way failure could happen, every possible congratulatory speech by the President, even one when Dimon got married ran through his mind faster than the speed of light. He forced himself to put such thoughts out of his brain. He took a deep breath.

Showtime.

"Ericson, begin," Dimon commanded loudly, silencing the room for the diminutive big-brain.

"Run final diagnostics," he said, borderline stuttering. It was the biggest moment in his life, too.

Keyboards were typed in perfect synchronization as every scientist checked their assigned piece of the probe. Meanwhile, a line of small white boxes had appeared on the left side of the projection. One by one, seemingly in random order, checkmarks filled in these boxes as each diagnostic came back error-free.

Dimon let a smile escape his lips as the column of white turned into a column of green.

The whole thing took about a minute and a half. Once everything was reported as working, Ericson spoke up again.

"Warm up the transponder."

He was, of course, referring to the device the humans would use to keep track of the probe while they could, and to determine whether or not the test was successful. It was nothing more than a gamma ray producer, although it did have a quirk. It was programmed to emit two different frequencies: one while leaving, called the Lima signal, and one while coming back, called the Bravo signal.

Through the supposed laws of warp drive and causality, two conditions were required for success. First, the Lima signals must fade out once Einstein's Booster is initiated. Second, the Bravo signals _must _start up before the Lima signals resume.

How would the humans know which signal is which? Why, two giant Geiger counters, of course!

And that's what the two graphs were for. The top one measures the strength of the Lima signals. The bottom one measures the strength of the Bravo signals. In the minute it took for the transponder to warm up, the blue line on the top graph slowly rose. It appeared slightly jagged, but other than that, it was working perfectly.

"T-minus 2 minutes, 30 seconds," Dimon said to himself. He felt his sweat leak out when he rubbed the back of his neck with his hands. All of their work, all of the man-hours, all of it was going to be either completely worth it, or a complete waste of money and time.

Only time would tell.

Dimon scanned the room for the umpteenth time. He could see a reflective sheen on the back of most necks. Everybody was "sweating it," so to speak.

_In hindsight, I should've picked up some air freshener, _he remarked. _Scientist BO is the worst kind of BO._

"Begin conversion of mass," Ericson announced at T-minus 2 minutes.

The lead scientist was referring to the process of converting regular mass into negative mass, thus allowing negative energy to be created. Dimon didn't know the details; once again, he was a soldier, not a scientist. The colonel did know, however, that negative energy was required for warp travel. Ericson had described it to him as using a bubble analogy, but he couldn't for the life of him remember the details.

It didn't matter, though, as long as it worked.

"Power up the launcher," Ericson ordered. The stutter was still there, but it was barely noticeable. He was gaining confidence.

In order to minimize the fuel load that the probe had to carry, it would get some "free" initial velocity through a rail-gun type launching system. Two large wires were laid on each side of the probe. One carries a positive charge; the other a negative charge. When a current around 10 mega-amperes is applied, the resulting magnetic field would accelerate the probe to 7,500 meters per second without any rocket fuel required. The only thing that actually needed to power up was the current generator.

"T-minus 1 minute, dear lord, we're so close," Dimon murmured.

"Angle the launch," Ericson said.

Simple physics says that a lower escape velocity will be achieved when you launch something to the east. Once again, this lowered the fuel load of the probe.

A very soft whirring noise was heard through the walls of the room. Many technicians, nevertheless, jerked upwards and looked to their left, unsure what to make of the alien sound.

Dimon simply face-palmed.

"Open the launch doors," Ericson commanded at T-minus 30 seconds. With the doors open, the probe finally saw the light of the sun.

"Holy Jesus fucking H. fucking Christ, I can't believe we're this close," Dimon spoke quietly. In the euphoria, the colonel believed every moment of his life had culminated to this one event. Every playtime spent in thought, every teacher stunned into silence, every girl left behind, everything was leading up to this; Dimon's crowning achievement. Instead of creeping downward, the numbers of the countdown began to blur in the colonel's eyes.

"Mix the fuel," Ericson said. The ever-present pitter-patter of the keyboards provided the perfect background noise for Dimon's egotistical trip.

"Fifteen…fourteen…thirteen…" Dimon started counting down in a soft yet distinct voice. "twelve…eleven…ten…nine…"

"Warm up the rockets."

"Eight…seven…six…five…"

"Prepare for current surge…"

"Four…three…two…"

"Reduce the friction…and…"

"One…LAUNCH!" The last word was spoken by both Dimon and Ericson simultaneously.

Immediately, a sound akin to a waterfall entered the launch room and echoed around the curved walls. The blue numbers counting down changed into red numbers counting up. A small tremor shook the room ever so slightly.

"The probe has cleared the launcher," someone reported. "Engaging rockets now."

Another faint whoosh noise passed through the room.

Dimon could see it in his mind's eye. The missile-shaped probe firing its rockets, the blue sky slowly turning black as it cleared the atmosphere, it couldn't be any clearer even if he was Superman and he was flying alongside it. He smiled like an idiot for a few short moments before regaining his composure.

"10,000 meters and counting..." Another technician began to rattle off altitudes every second. "17,500…24,500…31,750…40,000…escape velocity! We have hit escape velocity!"

"Excellent," Ericson applauded.

"Sensors show that g is less than 0.01 meters per second squared," yet another technician said.

_Damn, that was fast,_ Dimon thought. _These little shits know their stuff._

"Straighten out the probe's path," Ericson ordered. This was necessary for when the probe came back. It was to make sure that the X-1492WD landed in the Nevada desert, and not in some populated area. It would be best if the probe didn't irradiate Chicago, or New York, or somewhere else that was important.

"Prepare to initiate Einstein's Booster."

Even though the joke was at least three years old, Dimon still caught a few snickers from the peanut gallery of smart people. It also meant that they were also at T-plus 1 minute already. Dimon's heart was in luck; it wouldn't have to stress much longer.

The Lima graph was still at a constant high, while the Bravo graph still sat at zero. Hopefully, that wouldn't be the case for much longer.

"Sir, the probe reports Einstein's Booster is ready," someone said.

"On my mark," Ericson replied. He was waiting for T-plus 2 minutes.

Dimon's imagination now saw the probe floating in space, the Earth but a blue marble behind it. It was a very serene spectacle, really. He saw all the different stars twinkling in the background as the probe made its lonely journey.

Given his track record in his life, it's no wonder Dimon identified with it. But his time of reflection was cut short when Ericson started counting down.

"Five…four…three…two…one…START IT!" he said. Someone hit an "Enter" key a bit overzealously, and then all the typing stopped. There was nothing they could do anymore but wait.

Almost immediately, the Lima graph dropped to zero, which is exactly what they wanted. Dimon started counting off the seconds on his watch.

The sudden silence was unnerving. It was just such a stark contrast from the last 45 minutes that nobody really was accustomed to it. Suddenly, the sound of pouring a drink could make an entire room jump in surprise. There were plenty of things that the human scientists could shorten to a timetable, but the waiting game was not one of them.

Every eye in the room was glued to the projection. Both lines were back to being resolutely zero, just like at 0859 MDT before the launch.

Dimon glanced at his watch again. It had been only 23 seconds since the warp drive was started. Still, that time was a little over when they expected in the original calculations. The colonel didn't sweat it; maybe someone kept forgetting to carry a two or something.

The Bravo line still remained at zero.

The scientists, Ericson himself included, couldn't help but get nervous at this overstepping of their neat, calculated boundary. To them, math and science were the unshakeable pillars; anything could be described by neat equations, including warp travel. But now, the current events were breaking that unshakeable pillar. And they were hating it.

Time moved forward, second by painful second. Even Dimon was getting worried now, and he wasn't normally one to lose his cool. He was practically watching his crowning achievement morph into his biggest flop right before his eyes. Naturally, the disbelief mounted first. He kept telling himself that the signals would randomly come in any second, everyone would breathe a collective sigh, and then they would throw a party. Either way, the count-up clock now read T-plus 3 minutes.

The Bravo line remained at zero.

Not all hope was lost, though. As long as the Bravo signals came before the Lima signals reappeared, they would not be sunk.

Still, the silence was deafening. It's not everyday that one sees a trillion dollar and ten year project come to nothing in a single defining moment. It stunned everybody. The lack of sound no longer stemmed from anticipation, but from shock and defeat.

Finally, at T-plus 7 minutes, someone lower in the command chain haphazardly vocalized the elephant in the room.

"Well, where the hell did it go?"

Dimon hoped the bastard regretted his sentence, because he suddenly started a fiery debate within the curved walls of the launch center. And boy, have you not seen a debate until you watch eighty eggheads argue over the many reasons a probe traveling at warp speed could have for disappearing.

It was a free-for-all down on the floor. Everybody argued with everybody else. Everybody was disproven by everybody else. Ericson noticed that even the two closest friends and collaborators were going at it down there. The head scientist feebly attempted to quell the rising tide of voices, but his squeak just had no power.

And meanwhile, through it all, the Bravo line remained at zero.

Dimon had had enough. After the spectacle had been allowed to run for two whole minutes, he put every decibel behind his next order:

"Everybody SHUT the FUCK UP!"

To make a long story short, they did.

"There will be plenty of fucking time to go over why this test is failing, but you idiots seem to be forgetting you still have jobs to do! And as for the probe, I'm sure there's some kind of unforeseen delay we didn't account for. It's gonna fucking come back, I'm sure of it, so untie that knot in your panties and wait patiently!"

The outburst seemed to work. Everybody slowly and regretfully made their way back to their seats, replaced their papers and the occasional stapler, and waited for Dimon to finally call off the waiting game. Dimon's self-assured nature had won over the scientists once more. They had a little newfound hope, even if it was minuscule.

But the truth was, Dimon wasn't sure of anything anymore.

And for the first time in his life, he prayed.

* * *

_**A/N: And now for something completely different. At the end of every chapter, I'm gonna respond to a few of your reviews the way only Rainbow can. Call it a gimmick to get more reviews if you want, but I think it's just giving a little something back to the nice people who took the extra time to review. Besides, if you don't want to hear my witty/satirical/sarcastic/thankful response, that's your problem, not mine.**_

* * *

_**Cpt Fox: Dude...all of my feels, man. All of my feels. I totally agree with you. It would indeed be fun to discover a race like that. We'd have a hell of a time explaining the furry fandom to them, though. Am I right?**_

_**Jedelas: Thanks man, you're also quite awesome. Even more so for actually going back and reviewing The Performance. You were right, it was left out in the cold for a while. But thanks to people like you, that can change.**_

_**Wolfsalvo: I totally agree, and I'm gonna let you finish, but here's a few things I'd like to point out to you: *beginning *There *you *beginning *you *I'm *you *your *I *one *your *you *you. I did get a beta reader this time, though. I sincerely hope that makes you happy. :D**_

_**Emperor Andross: You must be a freaking Jedi or something. You were pretty spot-on, at least in guessing the second half of this chapter. Therefore, please refrain from vocalizing your guesses in the future. Thanks!**_

* * *

_**By the way, in case I forget at the beginning of the next chapter: I don't own any of the Star Fox characters.**_

_**Consider that your hint to next chapter, guys.**_

_**Peace!**_


	3. Space and Time

_**A/N: I'm back with another Thursday release! Maybe I'll make this a habit. I don't know. Anyway, enjoy!**_

* * *

The space between the Solar System and the Lylat System

What Dimon and his scientist "buddies" didn't know is that the probe had worked exactly as planned. The X-1492WD had run on warp drive for fifteen seconds, stopped, and had turned around.

Well, at least it tried to.

What nobody expected was the presence of a large mass. Large enough to have a strong gravitational pull. Large enough to fit snugly in the habitable zone of a binary star system. Large enough to have several oceans, several continents, and intelligent life.

What nobody expected was the presence of Corneria.

Of course, the humans had no way of knowing the probe had smashed into anything, much less an inhabited planet. As mentioned, all they could ever know was that the Bravo signals weren't coming back.

Which means they would never know exactly how it happened.

Right after Einstein's booster was stopped after the fifteen seconds had elapsed, the probe found itself being pulled rapidly towards Corneria. It didn't care, though. It wasn't programmed to respond to unexpected changes. It was only programmed to do its job: run on warp drive for fifteen seconds, turn itself around, change from Lima to Bravo signals, run on warp drive for another fifteen seconds, and finally crash back down.

So, that's what it did. While falling towards Corneria, it turned itself around. Thanks to the planned retrieval in the Nevada desert, the probe was able to withstand the atmospheric entry. Although, as the saying goes, the fall doesn't kill you, it's the sudden stop at the end.

And so it was with the X-1492WD. It hit the ground in a remote field some distance from a large city. The smash was enough to completely disable Einstein's Booster on impact. However, the electronics and transponder remained quite intact.

Therefore, the probe continued to do as programmed. A small click signified that the probe tried to activate Einstein's Booster. Then, it started sending its Bravo signals just as planned.

There were practically an infinite number of cases where this wouldn't be a problem for the inhabitants of Corneria. By some sadistic twist of fate, though, the transponder was facing the large city, roughly 20 miles away. The gamma ray signals were being shot right at the jumble of buildings that was the skyline.

Again, this might not be too much of a problem. One may think that it was programmed to stop the signals after a set period of time. One may follow that line of reason and think that nobody would ever care that an extraterrestrial warp drive probe had crashed in their backyard.

Once again, the opposite was the case. The probe was designed to send the Bravo signals _indefinitely_, unless it received a response from the giant Geiger counters several thousand light-years away, in Nevada.

The life-sucking radiation would silently poison everyone in the city. The furry inhabitants would go about their business, and never know that they could die within twenty-four hours.

Except for one vulpine with a keen eye.

* * *

Corneria City

Fox McCloud wandered around the streets of downtown Corneria City, head down, trying to enjoy his day off. He had taken every possible precaution to not be noticed by anyone. He was wearing civilian clothing, he had a hat to cover up his signature white mohawk, and he even threw some electric blue highlights into his face fur just for good measure.

It seemed to be working. No autograph hounds had crowded him yet, no amateur journalists were summoning the news channels with their crappy phone videos, and everything was peaceful so far.

_What a shitty way to be repaid for saving the system from Andross, _Fox lamented. There was nothing he could do, though; the price of fame was far from affordable.

_At least they're saying "Oh my God, it's Fox McCloud!" instead of "Oh my God, it's James' kit!"_

The vulpine was walking off a big lunch he had just eaten at a famous sandwich shop. He had ordered his favorite prime rib and pepperjack cheese sandwich with a side of their well-known au jus. A few of the other customers had performed double-takes at Fox, but thankfully, none of them realized it was actually Fox and not just some random guy.

_If I'm gonna go to all this trouble to disguise myself, _Fox had thought, _I might as well make it worthwhile._

The whole day was also sort of a secret mission for Fox, as well. While he walked, he looked up every now and again. The vulpine busied himself by checking out just how well Corneria City was recovering from Andross' invasion.

By his own grading system, he thought they were doing alright. Many cranes still dotted the skyline, but the vast majority of the buildings were fixed. However, that only included the buildings that hadn't been tipped over by those bulldozing robots. Most of those were still being rebuilt.

But things were improving rapidly. It was almost a touching sight.

While Fox got lost in his mind, his legs knew exactly where they were going. The vulpine soon found himself at East Park. It was a very familiar sight. He and his dad used to spend entire afternoons at the playground or on the bike trails. He also remembered it as the place where he and Wolf had had their "little" falling out.

Even after all that had happened between the vulpine and the lupine, he still couldn't help but wonder how Wolf was doing after being shot down twice.

Fox found himself an unoccupied bench to sit on, and then he continued his reflections.

His unfocused emerald eyes stared off into the northern sky. Not a single cloud was around that day; both Solar and Lylat warmed the air with full force. Even though the vulpine was built for winter, he still enjoyed the feeling of warm fur.

With the great weather and clear conditions, Fox could make out the face of the clock tower at the exact center of the city, which was at least three miles away to the northeast. It read 13:05 Cornerian Standard Time.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, a red dot popped up to the west of the clock tower. It was barely discernible at first, but over a few quick seconds, it morphed into a fiery streak angled sharply downwards. Then, it disappeared behind another building towards the west as quickly as it had come.

Fox perked his ears towards that same building, trying to hear the low rumble of a crash, but there was too much city bustle around him.

His first instinct was to race towards the crash to see what the matter was, but something stopped him. Something in his subconscious reminded him that the object couldn't have been any kind of ship. The burn-up pattern had been off.

_**It's probably just a stray fuel pod, or something equally harmless, **_Fox's subconscious argued.

_Well, I can't just ignore it, either, _Fox argued back.

_**Why not? It's your day off, relax, kit.**_

_Who knows what that thing is, though? It could be as harmless as Slippy, or it could be a missile! I can't ignore it if it's supposed to be an act of war._

_**There's so much more you have planned. I mean, it's nowhere near night yet. What happened to clubbing?**_

_Things change. Besides, at least we got to eat at Furnando's before this shit._

_**Yeah, it was good, I won't deny that. You're supposed to be relaxing, though.**_

_I know, but I'm gonna trust my instincts on this one. I'll go back to the Great Fox, and if it turns out to be nothing, I can come back and hit the clubs afterwards._

_**Alright, fine, as long as you pinky swear.**_

_Shut up. Geez, you're juvenile._

With that, the vulpine got up and bolted towards the south, headed for the recently renamed McCloud Cornerian Air Base.

* * *

16 miles WSW of Corneria City

Fifteen minutes after Fox's little conflict at East Park, an XA-17 helicopter touched down next to the half-broken probe. An eight man scientific team immediately popped out of the vessel, each one carrying a complement of tools. All were decked out in full hazmat suits and oxygen tanks. They were taking no chances.

The lead man set his briefcase shaped toolbox down a couple meters from the foreign object. He dug through the box, looking for a small trident-shaped object that was a radmeter.

The radmeter was basically an improved version of a Geiger counter that could measure all three types of radiation at once. Hence the trident design and the unit of rads as the measure of radiation.

Around him, the other scientists began searching their own toolboxes for different instruments. The lead man tried to ignore the incessant noise as his radmeter powered up.

_Could this loading bar move any slower?_ he complained to himself. As he finished the thought, though, his radmeter finished loading.

The screen started recording radiation levels. The left side measured alpha radiation in yellow numbers; the middle, beta radiation in blue numbers; and the right side, gamma radiation in neon green numbers. At the moment, it read only standard background radiation.

The lead scientist started on the back end of the probe; the end facing away from Corneria City. The radiation readings did not change.

He shuffled slowly around the probe in a counterclockwise direction. His eyes never came off the radmeter, and his tail never slackened.

As he went, the gamma radiation readings rose. The ascension started very slowly at first; ninety degrees away from his started point, his radmeter only read twice normal radiation levels. That was abnormal, sure, but still far from dangerous.

It was the next ninety degrees that would be the problem.

The lead scientist kept moving in his cautious slow circle. The gamma reading kept growing slowly but surely. He was starting to get worried.

Then, he finally reached the front. A clear dome set this side off from the rest of the object. Inside, some electronics were visible.

That was the least of the scientist's worries now, though. The radmeter, while still at normal alpha and beta levels, had spiked heavily on gamma levels. It had spiked so badly that the radmeter was giving an overflow reading instead of a number!

Obviously, this scared the guy. He immediately backed his body out of the lethal stream of radiation, but he left his radmeter inside. There was something he needed to find out before he evacuated the area.

The hazmat-clad scientist took several paces towards Corneria City while leaving his radmeter in the stream. The gamma reading lowered to just below the max reading, 999,999 rad, but he found the stream to be slightly wider. He looked at his radmeter, then at Corneria City's skyline, then at the radmeter again, before coming to a grave realization.

He packed up his instruments, ordered his team to do the same, and rushed everyone onto the helicopter to report back to General Pepper.

* * *

Edwards AFB Detachment 3, Nevada

"Can we call this off yet?" Ericson complained quietly to Dimon.

The colonel looked around the launch room again. The room was still deathly silent, but everyone else looked bored out of their minds. Hands were pressed against cheeks, and faces were pressed against desks. Someone in the front row was snoring obnoxiously.

_God, this sucks worse than that easy girl from high school, _Dimon thought.

At T-plus 20 minutes, he realized that he had to face facts, no matter how depressing those facts may be.

That damned probe was never coming back.

"Alright, fine," Dimon sighed angrily. "Call it off, Ericson."

"Abort, guys, abort," Ericson said over the microphone.

Nothing happened. The clock continued to count up from twenty minutes. People started exchanging glances, wondering why nothing had changed on the screen. Someone made a snide remark about how everything was failing. No one in the room could figure out what this new, amazingly idiotic problem was.

Except for Dimon.

"Would someone wake up that bastard in the front row, please?!" he shouted out. The snoring scientist was the one who controlled the projection.

Dimon saw Sleeping Beauty's companion shove him on the shoulder several times. He bolted into a sitting position way too quickly for his chair to handle it. As a result, he fell backwards, doing an impromptu somersault once he hit the ground. A couple people laughed, but most people weren't in the mood anymore.

Dimon's rage did not manifest itself in silence, though, unlike the rest of the room's occupants. He needed a release, and the sleeping scientist was about to provide him with one.

"So sorry to have woken you from your _very _important nap, Your Highness," the colonel taunted sarcastically. "But we would like to request the king to abort the fucking data collection!"

He glared at Dimon. Dimon glared back.

The scientist rolled his eyes, turned around, and pressed the "Delete" key on his keyboard. Presto, everything was reset.

"Alright, talk to me," Dimon said while rubbing his temples. "Why did our probe go missing?"

The scientists exchanged glances among one another again. At the risk of starting another room-wide argument, a technician by the name of O'Dwyer spoke up.

"Well, sir, um, it could have been any number of things."

"Great, that tells me a lot," Dimon interrupted.

"The fact is, sir, that we just don't know. That's the risk we take with faster-than-light travel. We don't know because we can't know."

"I want theories, O'Dwyer. THEORIES."

"When I listened into the argument, the most prevalent theory was that the servos that controlled the 180 degree turn didn't work properly."

"Oh, please," one of the mechanics spoke up. "You know as well as I do that we tested and retested those servos hundreds, if not thousands of times. I'm completely convinced that they worked."

"How?" Sleeping Beauty asked mockingly. "How do you know? Is there some kind of communication you have with the probe? Did you invent an ansible behind our backs?"

"Ansible," of course, was referring to the sci-fi term of a device capable of instantaneous communication across any distance.

"No, I just know it in my heart."

"Oh, please, there's no room for heart in science."

"Enough! This is a launch room, not a fucking presidential debate!" Dimon shouted. "Anything else, O'Dwyer?"

"Another common theory is that the probe collided with a heavenly object of some sort. If you ask me, that makes the most sense."

"Come now, O'Dwyer," spoke yet another technician putting in his two cents. "Are you telling me that all the work our astronauts did in ensuring a clear path was in vain?"

"No. I'm just saying that they might have missed something. Like a planet, or a large asteroid, or anything along those lines," O'Dwyer explained.

"You're so naïve, man. The only planets that could have been in the path would've had to have been orbiting that binary star system out there. Personally, I find that highly unlikely."

"Then maybe it hit the star itself, I don't know. All I'm saying is that it probably collided with something. Who gives a smelly crap what it hit?"

As the scientists reverted back to debate mode, Dimon realized there was nothing to be gained from figuring out the why. The only purpose that served was to make the eggheads pissed off at each other. What's done is done, and caring about the why just wastes time.

"Ok, you know what? Fuck it," Dimon called out rather calmly. "I'm gonna go to my office and consider our options. Go take a coffee break or something, I don't care, just don't bother me. And do it before I start writing you up for insubordination."

* * *

SW of Corneria City

The whole ritual of loading up the XA-17 took about three minutes, and then they were in the air heading back to McCloud CAB. After takeoff, the lead scientist took off the helmet of his hazmat suit. It revealed the head of an arctic fox, Major Buddy Lance.

Lance was the chief scientific officer for all of Corneria's forces. His job was to oversee weapons creation, both biological and technological, and to explain the functions of these new weapons to Pepper and his staff.

And, as of today, he was also in charge of examining extraterrestrial objects.

Despite his calm outward appearance, Lance was incredibly concerned for both Corneria City and his own safety. The radiation emanating from the alien probe was absolutely incredible. Even though the city was sixteen miles from the source of the silent poison, that distance was still way too short for the radiation to be reduced to safe levels.

Lance knew of the weight on his shoulders. He had to get the warning out as fast as possible.

He set up the communications link as fast as his gloved paws would allow him. The communications device was simply a touchscreen tablet without all the bells and whistles. However, it used an untraceable signal and the video quality was superb.

Lance dialed in to General Pepper's extension and waited for the transmission to go through. Within five seconds, an old, stern-looking bloodhound was staring at the scientist over the comm link.

"What do you have for me, Lance?" General Pepper asked over the video screen.

"I wish I could say that I had better news, sir," Lance began. "But it's very grim."

The arctic fox looked to the side, trying to find the right words to explain the fucked up news. He grimaced, took a nice, deep breath, and began with these words:

"I think you should evacuate Corneria City."

The old hound nearly fell off his chair in surprise. That was not what his ears had expected to hear.

"What in Lylat do you mean?" Pepper shot back in disbelief.

"I mean, that object is a freaking R-bomb!"

An R-bomb, or Rad-Bomb, is a highly classified new weapon type known only to the highest ranks of the Cornerian military. It is designed to cover a given radius with deadly radiation, like a blanket covers a cold person. Of course, they already had nuclear bombs which could achieve the same effect, but the R-bomb is very special. It could release its radiation without any explosive report, shockwave, or flash. It is a silent killer of epic proportions.

"That's impossible. Only ten have ever been made, and they're all safe here at McCloud. You know that, Mr. Lance."

"Not a literal R-bomb, man! Someone else in the universe launched this R-bomb…imitator at us."

"That can't be right," Pepper argued weakly. "Are you sure? Maybe you misread something."

The general had a softness to his voice. It seemed to be one of hope. A hope that, despite Lance's truthful record and clear vocalization, the vulpine was wrong. He hoped that his great city, recovering so well, was still safe from peril.

Lance dug through his toolbox, looking for the radmeter that had started it all. He let it power up while Pepper tapped his foot impatiently.

All military-issue radmeters were programmed with a logging feature. This feature creates a graph of radiation levels over time, and these graphs can be retrieved within 24 hours of their creation. It was perfect for situations like Lance's.

"The extraterrestrial object was a cylindrical object oriented west-south-west to east-north-east," Lance explained in the meantime. "The end at bearing oh-seven-one, facing Corneria City, was capped in a translucent dome. Inside was a collection of electronics."

The radmeter finished loading. Lance paused to open up the graph. The device stopped measuring the background radiation and showed a collection of three lines in different colors. Once again, yellow represents alpha radiation, blue represents beta radiation, and neon-green represents gamma radiation.

The yellow and blue lines were flattened to zero by the scale of the graph; they were dwarfed by the neon-green spike at the right end of the screen. Lance now held all the evidence he needed to get an evacuation.

"I started taking radiation measurements at the opposite end of the probe. Nothing out of the ordinary. As I made my way around, though…" After that last word, Lance turned his radmeter around to show Pepper.

Almost immediately, the hound's eyes went as wide and as white as a Thanksgiving dinner plate.

"Good…good God…!" he stuttered out. "That's…that's over a million rads!"

"That was right at the end of the dome," Lance continued. "When I pulled the radmeter a couple meters from the dome, it dropped to just under a million."

"So, the radiation's weakening over distance…?" Pepper asked, a faint glimmer of hope reappearing. "That's good, right?"

"Not good enough. I've done some approximate calculations in my head already. I can't really say how accurate they are until I'm back at McCloud with all my materials, but I still think the outlook is grim."

"Do…do you have any numbers?" Pepper asked hesitantly, very afraid of the answer.

"Yes. Given the sixteen mile distance from the outskirts of the city, the way the radiation stream widens, and the way it weakens...Everyone from the suburb of Grennick to Flyer's Park is taking anywhere from 900 rads per hour to 1200 rads per hour. Simply put, anyone caught the stream for 25 to 30 minutes has a 50% chance of dying, even with the best medical treatment."

"Holy…" Pepper was speechless. Grennick is the second northernmost suburb in the Corneria City metro area, while Flyer's Park is but a mile north of McCloud CAB, which is perched at the southern tip of the city.

"To add insult to injury…" Lance began, trying to prevent the emotion from showing through his ice-blue eyes. "…it's already been 20 minutes since it crashed down."

One could almost hear the dramatic bass drum pound in the background as he finished his sentence. Pepper stumbled back as if he was being shoved by an invisible thug. His paws grabbed the wall behind him for stability. He could feel his heart drop into his stomach as Lance's words took full hold. The complete shock and disbelief coming from Pepper was as incredible as the million-rad radiation reading.

Lance, seeing the whole thing from his communications device, could only hang his head in submission. There was nothing anyone could do, and that's what pissed the vulpine off the most.

"I…I wish I could have told you sooner…but…these damned helicopters just don't go any faster," Lance offered a weak attempt at humor. It did nothing, to no one's surprise.

"We can destroy it, right?" Pepper asked hastily.

"Of course, but the damage will have already been done," Lance pointed out.

Pepper looked away, once more defeated.

"In the interest of saving lives, though…" Lance added after a moment. "Destroy it as soon as you can."

"Will do, Lance. Leave this channel open."

"Roger."

The arctic fox turned his attention to the window. Corneria City's skyline stood out there, as random and as elegant as it had been for as long as Lance could remember. All kinds of buildings jutted out to different heights over the horizon. He knew that people were still going about their usual weekday business. Nobody knew of the deadly radiation that was slowly spreading, infecting everyone in the city. Nobody knew that within minutes, half the city could be dead.

That was what tortured Lance the most. No matter what anyone did, short of turning back time, millions of civilians would fall ill and die. Mothers would sicken in front of children, brother in front of brother, husband in front of wife, absolute chaos would take over…he checked his watch…in about an hour and a half.

He knew that so well because the calculations inside his head were accurate. More accurate than he had wanted Pepper to know.

Lance had no idea why he had hidden that fact, though. If changing the wording used to describe it wouldn't make a difference, why did he use a euphemism anyway?

Maybe it was respect. Maybe it was his own fear. Maybe it was that same little glimmer of hope that he was wrong.

His heart wanted to believe that. His brain wouldn't allow it.

Lance quickly found the scene outside the window too painful to watch. He looked back down at his comm device, but Pepper was no longer there. Just a blank, empty room stared back.

The vulpine sighed and cradled his head in his paws. Someone behind him put their paw on his shoulder.

"There was nothing you could do. What's done is done," he said. Lance recognized the voice as his second-in-command, Joseph.

"That's what pisses me off the most, Joseph!" Lance snapped back. "Millions of people are gonna get sick and die without even having an inkling as to why!"

Joseph could only stare blankly and regretfully at his commander. He had never heard Lance scream like that.

Lance sighed and took his gaze away from Joseph. He rubbed his temples. His ears hung down in sadness. When he finally had the guts to open his eyes again, he found Pepper watching him from the comm device. His face held pity for Lance.

"How much did you see?" the vulpine asked softly.

"I saw enough," he replied simply.

Lance grimaced as if he just took a blow to the gut.

"Look, I'm just as angry about this as you are. More so, most likely. I practically just told the city's population that half of them were slated to die."

Lance felt the shame rise up in his chest.

"But I'll be damned if I'm going to let these belligerent aliens disable the greatest city in the system without any consequences. I sure you won't mind, but I'm having your guys backtrace the probe's origin as we speak. Make no mistake, Lance. They_ will_ have hell to pay."

* * *

_**Alright, guys, time for another round of Rainbow's Responses!**_

_**PointCaliber: Why thank you, good sir. Let it never be said that Rainbow doesn't do his research. :D  
**_

_**Jedelas: Oh, it's no problem, my friend. People like you are the ones who keep FanFiction alive, even if no one admits it. So, you keep doing your good work, and I'll keep doing mine. :D  
**_

_**Wolfsalvo: Maybe that was a little harsh, what I did last chapter, but it's all in good fun. I'm just glad you like this story. Calling it original is one of the best compliments I've been given. Thank you, man.**_

* * *

_**All this serious reading getting you down? Need a comic relief? Try Tales of a Coexistence, out now from RainbowNoms Publishing, Inc.**_

_**...Or don't. Whatever.**_

_**See ya later, probably on another Thursday, but...we'll see. :3**_


	4. Dem Decisions

_**A/N: Happy Thursday, everybody! And it's especially happy for me because I just got a snow day in the middle of finals! Yay, three finals I don't have to take now!**_

_**Also, apparently, the world ends tomorrow. I highly doubt it will, but if it actually does, then at least I got one more chapter up in time. :D**_

_**10 follows, too. That's so awesome, makes me feel so warm inside. Yay, people like my work!**_

_**Enjoy the next segment!**_

* * *

Edwards AFB Detachment 3, Nevada

Dimon sat in his office, moving every part of his body that could be moved. All the caffeine in the world couldn't have made him as jittery as he was now. He paced back and forth in the room, unable to sit down. He clenched and unclenched his fists, unable to keep his hands still. He kicked the floor with his foot, unable to keep a steady walking pace. If you tried to approach him, he'd probably rip your head off and shove it up your ass.

Of course, you'd never know why, because Project Columbus is top secret. But that was where the fury was coming from. Or rather, it was the total failure of Project Columbus so far that caused the fury. It permeated his body so well that Dimon could almost smell the anger in his sweat.

_Of fucking course this had to happen. Of fucking course my life's work for the past six years had to collapse like a popped tire. Of fucking course, _the colonel thought over and over.

Now, he had to reconsider his options. The first probe had gone missing to God knows where. They did have a back-up, though. The X-1492B10.

The X-1492B10 had been suggested by Ericson himself. In his nervous, paranoid ways, he had convinced the Director of Intelligence to finance a back-up probe should the first be compromised in some way. It worked exactly like the first, except for two crucial differences.

First, it transmitted radio waves instead of gamma rays. Second, after running on Einstein's Booster for the fifteen seconds, it would split into ten smaller packages, each with the means to get back to Earth.

Personally, Dimon thought the second modification was silly and a waste of resources. If one probe couldn't make it back, what was the point of sending out ten more?

Suddenly, the e-mail program on his computer let out a loud ping. Dimon glanced at the screen. It was a message from the Director of Intelligence himself, asking how the test was going.

Considering recent events, the back-up probe option suddenly seemed that much more appealing.

Dimon could be mad about the recent mishap as much as he wanted, but at the end of the day, if he reported that the first probe disappeared and the second one was never launched, he would be out of a job. Simple as that.

Those were pretty much his only choices. Launch the back-up, or be fired.

Dimon sighed and rubbed his temples. He had no desire to run through another launch sequence, nor did he want to talk to anyone at that blasted CIA. He felt like he was between a rock and a hard place.

Not like there were many rocks in the desert anyway.

_Damn, I hate when I'm in these lose-lose situations._

Dimon tried to comfort himself by saying the same thing wouldn't happen again, but it was in vain. Both of the probes were built off the same specifications, as far as warp drive, materials, and servos were concerned. If the problem had been any one of those three, then they were just screwed again.

O'Dwyer, though, had made a good point with the collision theory. Maybe it did hit something. In fact, that's the only scenario where splitting one transponder into ten would be helpful instead of trivial. Even though Dimon highly doubted the theory's plausibility, it was his only hope to still get the notoriety and raise he had been hoping for.

_I guess a slim chance is better than fucking no chance at all,_ Dimon thought. Before going back down to his platform to make the announcement, he checked the clock. 0935 MDT.

Taking a nice, deep breath, Dimon left his office. He took the spiral staircase down the wall of the room and found all of his scientists and technicians standing around. Some of them had coffee cups, others were engaging in idle conversation, and the rest just played Solitaire on their $5000 government-issued computers.

Normally he'd be annoyed with them for doing nothing, but Dimon was numb to all but one feeling at the moment. That feeling was exasperation

Nobody on the floor really noticed their commanding officer until he cleared his throat over the microphone. At that point, heads turned slowly towards him. Unlike usual, no one was really scared of him. It's like all the scientists could sense Dimon's lack of resolve.

"Attention, guys," he started quietly. "Shit has happened. I don't deny it. But, you know what? We planned for this. Thanks to Ericson, we have a plan B. Consider this announcement as the commencement of plan B. Do whatever you need to do to prepare the X-1492B10, and get it launched in an hour's time. You got that, Sleeping Beauty? One hour. Carry on."

Dimon shuffled back up to his office and sat down in his rolling chair. He could see the projection through the windows. Sleeping Beauty had been listening; the clock on the top fifth was counting down from one hour.

Something was missing this time, though. Like, he knew there was another shot at success, but…there was no excitement anymore. No anticipation. No…heart.

Upon this note, Dimon fell into a short, shallow sleep.

/\\\\\\\\\\\\

Southern Corneria City

_Maybe I should have requested an escort, _Fox thought as he kept up his pace heading south. Downtown buildings, residential abodes, and the usual city traffic flew past as he approached Flyer's Park.

A few minutes ago, Pepper's voice permeated the streets, explaining something about a warning, or some kind of rationing, or whatever. Fox wasn't able to hear it over his own heavy breathing, though, so he ignored it. If it was really important, he'd find out about it when he made it back to the Great Fox.

He felt like he was doing laps back in the Academy. From East Park to McCloud CAB it was about a five mile run. Although the vulpine was in the best of shape, it was still an exhausting exercise in endurance.

After sprinting for twenty-five minutes straight, he had to take a rest at Flyer's Park. Named for its proximity to the air base, people usually came here to watch the take-offs and landings of the military pilots, or to fly their own radio-controlled planes. Like always, there were at least five tiny Arwings zipping around over the short concrete runway in the middle of the park.

Fox found himself a water fountain and took a nice, long drink. One mile to go.

Seeing as it was still his day off, he forced himself to walk through the park instead of sprinting through it. The air was amazingly calm, and the temperature was just right. The weather almost made one think everything was right in the world.

Fox's intuition kept telling him otherwise.

The vulpine started sprinting again. The southern end of the city was nothing more than a collection of suburbs. Many kits and pups were outside enjoying the weather. Many of them were playing what looked like an eight-on-eight version of Pong. They never noticed Fox's sense of urgency as he ran past.

Soon, the entrance to the air base was in sight. It was basically a laser gate with flat, concrete and steel walls extending outward from both sides. A small guardhouse was planted at the right side in front of the lasers; the person inside controlled who could enter and who couldn't.

Fox slowed as he approached, wiping the sweat off his brow and catching his breath. It was common courtesy not to look exhausted in front of guards.

The laser gate hummed quite audibly as the vulpine looked into the guardhouse. A yellow lab, ranked corporal, looked back, probably seeing his only request for entry all day. The base wasn't really a busy place now that the Lylat Wars were over.

"Name?" the canine asked, shaking himself awake.

"Captain Fox McCloud," he answered formally.

"Identification, please."

Fox dug into his back pocket for his pilot's license and government ID. These two forms were the norm now. He handed them to the guard.

The yellow lab examined both of them carefully, glancing at the photo, and then the guy that handed them over. He held both of them in Lylat's light. The hidden seal was there as well, but the canine was still skeptical. The IDs themselves checked out, sure, but there seemed to be a mismatch between the photo and the user. Fox McCloud did not have blue highlights, and this guy didn't have the white mohawk over the top of his head, either.

"You're Fox McCloud?" he asked skeptically, eyebrows raised.

"Of course. Who were you expecting, Saint Nick?" the vulpine snapped back.

"Yeah, I don't believe you, sir. I'm gonna have to keep these IDs so the real McCloud can get them back."

"You don't believe me? Why the hell not?!"

"You look nothing like these photos, sir, and if you don't leave, I have authorization to use force," the canine warned, reaching for his LBR-85 assault rifle.

"Look nothing like the-?" Fox muttered in disbelief before remembering he was still in disguise. He had completely forgotten about that little fact after running for so long. He went to remove his hat, but not before giving himself a mental pat on the back for his effective ruse.

The vulpine removed his red baseball cap and tilted his head towards the guard, showing off the mohawk everyone knew and loved.

"...Oh...sorry about that, Mr. McCloud," the yellow lab admitted in embarrassment. He handed back both forms of identification, set his rifle back down, and pressed the button which disabled the gate.

"Thank you," Fox said flatly, pocketing his IDs and taking off into the base.

"H-Have a nice day!" the guard yelled after him, still embarrassed that he couldn't recognize the most well-known figure in the system AND the base's namesake.

The vulpine ignored him as he headed to the hangars to change and take off. On his way, he vaguely recognized an XA-17 helicopter heading in from the west. It didn't really concern him. They had their reasons for putting helicopters into the air.

Fox passed the main officers building and the control tower on his way to hanger A-7. For a short while, he considered stopping in and greeting whomever might be inside, but he decided against it. Not only was he in silly civilian clothing, he didn't want to be seen with the highlights in his face fur anyway, especially by anyone super important.

Soon, he reached the hangers, poking up from the southeast corner of the base. The hangers on the east side numbered upwards from A-1 to A-15; those on the south side descended from B-15 to B-1.

Once Fox reached his hanger, a squat metal building roughly 350 feet square, he went inside and flicked on the lights. His silver and blue Arwing sat dead-center, patiently awaiting its next command. The vulpine stopped by the locker in the back corner of the dull space to change into his flight suit, then he jumped into the cockpit, ready to sit for a while after running for so long.

After he sat down, though, he started to feel a little queasy. Fox shrugged it off to exhaustion and stress. It would probably go away once he got out of Corneria's atmosphere.

He powered up his ship, opened the hangar door remotely, and then taxied onto a runway to get takeoff permission, scarcely thirty-five minutes after seeing the bright red streak.

/\\\\\\\\\\

McCloud Cornerian Air Base

Inside that officer's building, General Pepper paced in his office, still waiting for a call from the scientific center on the results of the backtrace.

He also wished there was more he could do. He had given the evacuation order exactly twenty-one minutes after the probe crashed down, but if Lance was right…for most of them it was too late already.

Pepper's job was not to examine the past, though. That was for the historians to figure out. No, his job was to act on this rather…disturbing…turn of events. He had to act quickly, too, but it seemed that those scientists couldn't finish their goddamned work fast enough.

He sighed and glanced out the window to see what looked like a vulpine dashing by. Not only was he not in uniform, he was headed to the hangers when all exercises had been suspended due to said recent events.

Pepper would have a "talk" with the perimeter guards later.

As soon as he reached for the phone to call security, it started ringing. The caller ID told the general that the scientific wing was finally responding. He answered quickly, almost shoving the small spherical object off the desk in the process. A small holographic image of a higher ranking scientist floated above the general's desk.

"Yes?" he said to it.

"Sir, TRACERT just finished its calculations, and you're not going to believe who the culprit is," the guy on the other end of the line explained, concern plaguing his voice

TRACERT was the most powerful computer in Lylat, housed several kilometers underneath the scientific building at McCloud. It was capable of a hundred million billion billion billion floating point operations per second. Perfect for complicated backtracing, encoding and decoding, and other such things.

"Well, don't leave me in suspense, you idiot!" he yelled back.

"…It came from System 77, General."

Pepper was taken aback. Sure, there was life in System 77, but he had been assured twelve years ago that they were underdeveloped. He remembered it clearly as one of the busiest days on the job, beating out even the recent Lylat Wars. The general found it way too far-fetched to believe.

"Confirm that result!" he shouted at the holographic image. The scientist only deflected his gaze downwards.

"We already have, sir. Three times, as a matter of fact," he said solemnly. "With all due respect, why else did you think it was taking so long?"

"…So you're telling me a supposedly underdeveloped planetary system not only knows we exist, but is also able to get an R-bomb to more than halve the population in our biggest and best city?" The level of disbelief in Pepper's voice was astronomical.

"Apparently so," the scientist admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "To be fair, the technology we used when we discovered System 77 was still in its infancy—"

"Sir, Lance and his team just arrived," a new voice interrupted. Pepper recognized it as the air and space traffic control chief.

"Send in Major Lance immediately," the general ordered.

"Roger."

"…As I was saying, the technology was still in its—" the scientist tried to continue, but Pepper cut him off this time.

"Don't explain it. Don't hang up, either. Lance is coming in soon, and I want you to explain everything to him. I've already informed him of the backtrace, so just skip to the part with System 77."

"Affirmative," he sighed.

Pepper walked out of the vidphone's range, waiting not so patiently for the arctic fox's arrival. Lance was going to be his best defense against giving orders fueled with rage, something he wished he had back when Andross went crazy. The general still felt the pangs of guilt sometimes, especially when he spoke with Fox.

_What's done is done,_ he told himself. _What's done is done…_

Pepper could only hope he'd perform better with this whole System 77 caper.

There was a knock on the door, then Lance stepped in, still in his hazmat suit minus the helmet. His ears were lowered, his tail hung limply, and he was just as reserved and as angered as the general remembered from their little chat earlier.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" the vulpine asked quietly. His eyes were locked on the floor.

"Snout up, Lance, and yes. I need your opinion on something. Remember when I told you I borrowed your scientists to do a backtrace?"

"Yeah. TRACERT's done, isn't it, sir?" Lance said, trying to ready himself for the news.

"Four times over, if your buddy is right."

Pepper led Lance back to the vidphone. The scientist was still standing there, protracting and retracting the claws on his right paw idly. The vulpine recognized him immediately as the TRACERT commander; he was charged with maintaining and running the supercomputer.

When the scientist glanced at the screen and saw his two highest ranked superiors, he nearly jumped in surprise. He turned red under his short orange fur; he had just been caught claw-clacking.

"He-hello, sir, Mr. Lance!" he said with a nervous smile.

"Forget I saw it," the vulpine replied, surprising himself by actually cracking a smile. Claw-clacking was as frowned upon as nose-picking, although he had no idea why.

"Pepper tells me you have important news?"

"Uh, yes, sir. The backtrace results are in. We've run these calculations several times on TRACERT, under the utmost scrutiny of the data, but it keeps giving us the same weird answer. Apparently, the object came from System 77."

"System 77?!" Lance repeated in surprise, instinctively stepping backwards.

"To be more specific, somewhere within a fifty-mile-radius on Planet 77-3, within System 77."

The chief scientific officer couldn't believe his ears. He remembered that day of discovery twelve years ago. It had been back when he had just joined the scientific team; in fact, exoplanet examining had been his first assignment. He recalled all the surprise at finding intelligent life, he recalled all the extra classification steps they had been required to go through, he even remembered spit-taking his coffee when they had confirmed the presence of orbiting satellites.

But it had been designated underdeveloped...right?

"I thought we figured out that System 77 was no threat to us," Lance muttered.

"So much for that," Pepper quipped, rolling his eyes.

"Thank you, by the way," he told the TRACERT commander before cutting the link.

Lance's analytical mind struggled to make sense of the data before it. For a civilization to advance that quickly was an absolutely dizzying concept, and he just could not believe it. The vulpine scratched his head as his mind continued to run in circles.

"I just don't get it. Twelve years ago, no threat at all, but now they suddenly understand interstellar travel and can create R-bombs? It doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't have to. Facts are facts. They shot an R-bomb at the Lylat System's capital; what are we going to do about it?" Pepper explained flatly. For a moment, he enjoyed the relative simplicity of a military standpoint.

The vulpine pondered this. He did his best to avoid the whys, even though that was the complete opposite of what he had done the other 34 years of his life. He tried to bring back the memory of that mandatory "military strategies" class he had taken to become an officer. Only one R-bomb, only one irradiated city...only one...only one...why weren't there more? If this was a planned war, why weren't there more?

Lance smiled when those last four words went through his brain. He knew it would be futile to avoid the whys.

"Well, do you think this object is an act of war?"

"I pay you to think, not ask obvious questions, Lance."

He smiled. "If this is war, then, why was there only one object?"

The canine opened his mouth to reply, but the words suddenly failed him. Lance had made an interesting point.

"And for that matter, why aren't there any System 77 based ships about? Why is there no infantry taking advantage of the confusion?"

The scientist had just given three very good strategic observations. Three observations Pepper didn't see before on account of his rage. Three observations that suddenly changed his plans. He had been ready to order retaliation, but...now what?

"You would've made a great soldier, Lance," the general complimented.

"And you obviously haven't seen me on the firing range, sir," he quipped. The two shared a good laugh, which dissolved the stress just a little bit.

"Are you really that bad?"

"If 'aim-down-the-sights-and-hit-a-bull's-eye-two-targets-to-the-right-of-your-own' is good, then I don't want to know what bad is."

The two nearly fell over on the ground with laughter. Who knew fail-aiming could be so funny?

"This is why I keep you around, Lance," the general replied goodheartedly.

"...Still, something's off about this isolated attack. Dare I call it an accident?"

"It couldn't have been an accident, it was way too coincidental," Pepper said with a scowl.

Lance thought about what they could do. Retaliation had been thrown out the window, it seemed, but they couldn't just sit idly and do nothing. People were going to start dying by the hundreds of thousands; the survivors were going to want answers, leadership, and closure. If the military did nothing, there's no telling what the populace could be capable of.

"Damn, if only there was a way we could talk to them ourselves..." the vulpine commented.

"That's it!" Pepper suddenly snapped his fingers, making Lance jump out of his fur. "Lance, is that ansible working yet?"

He searched his memory for those not-so-recent tests. The ansible had been a high priority before the Lylat Wars, but Andross's invasion had all but killed the project for the time being. However, it had worked. Once.

"It's only been tested once, I can't guarantee that-" he tried to caution, though.

"The test was successful, correct?"

"...To the best of our knowledge...yes."

"Use it. Establish a connection to System 77. If they have interstellar probes and R-bomb technology, they'd better have ansibles, too."

/\\\\\\\\

Elkhorn, Nebraska

Josefson was still half-naked in his recliner, still watching _The Price Is Right _reruns, but he had switched over to soda instead of orange juice.

_Way to spice up life, Erick,_ he thought sarcastically as he took a sip.

His anger had been building over the last half-hour; slowly at first, but now it was growing exponentially. He hated having so much free time. It was bloody boring!

But there wasn't much he could do about it. To defy an order from the Brigadier General was to commit career suicide. He loved his job too much. He was the SpongeBob of Offutt Air Force Base.

Soon after, though, he started wondering if it was worth it. The orange numbers on Josefson's cable box weren't advancing nearly as fast as he wanted them to. He was ready to do anything, absolutely anything, just to be back at the base with his men.

_**Just go to the freaking base, make your point clear, and non-violently force your way in, **_the anger said.

_I don't want to lose my career, or my head. Personally, I don't trust Parker. I could see him actually pointing a gun at me, _rationality shot back.

_**Forget about Parker, that guy is all talk anyway.**_

_Probably, but the Brigadier General isn't. I've never gotten on his bad side, and I don't plan to, either._

_**What could he possibly do to you that is more torturous than this?**_

_Discharge me._

_**...**_

_Yeah. He could make this my life every day, without any work to look forward to._

_**You have a point, but doesn't discharge seem a little far-fetched?**_

…

_**You're his best worker. Do you honestly believe he's going to fire you because you wanted to work more?**_

_I guess that makes sense, but he's still probably going to do something to punish me, like demotion or not being able to test out those new planes on Monday._

_**You can manage. It's worth it.**_

And that's when Josefson found his resolve. He bolted out of his recliner, only to get dizzy from standing up way too fast. He stumbled around for a moment or two, and then he overcame the dizziness and practically ran to his room.

He started with his bathroom activities. Josefson skipped the shower, instead choosing to apply a lot of deodorant. He took a quick piss, and then started to comb his neat black hair.

Looking in the mirror, he saw that his brown eyes were holding the same resolve and determination as he felt on the inside. If there was any doubt of his course of action left in his brain, it vanished after that moment of personal grooming.

Josefson moved on to his clothes. The colonel started with a white undershirt and a change of boxer shorts, and then he moved on to his normal weekday uniform, just a camouflage jacket and some black pants. Once he was certain that his personal appearance was acceptable, he grabbed his keys and sprinted out the front door, barely remembering to lock it behind him.

His motorcycle awaited him inside the garage, left and down the steps of the front porch. He hopped onto it and backed away from his suburban home.

_Note to self: Get gas on the way home, _Josefson told himself after checking the fuel gauge. He took off towards Interstate 80, already formulating his arguments for the ensuing confrontation.

* * *

_**A/N: Hey, you know what'd be cool? If Sanitarium, or SyxxFox, or Cpt. Fox gave this thing a nice review. *sigh* Dare to dream, Rainbow...dare to dream. Anyway, next round of responses starts now:**_

* * *

_**PointCaliber: Yup, hurray for Thursdays! Especially when blizzards come and I get a free day off school!  
**_

_**Jedelas: Wait no longer, my friend. Hopefully this chapter clears up the timeline for you. You were pretty close, though. 6 months after SF:64, 12 years after the events in the prologue.  
**_

_**Comrade: Don't jump to conclusions, man. Things could still work out. :3**_

* * *

_**Also, any Tales fans out there, I hit a bit of a writer's block, but I assure you the next piece will be done by Christmas.**_

_**Habt einen guten Tag!**_

_**-Brandon**_


	5. Confrontations

_**A/N: I was gonna put something here about how insignificant the whole 'big writer review,' until I found out that it actually kind of worked. xD**_

_**Well, maybe not, and I'll explain later, but the point is that sentence last chapter was just a daydream. Nothing more than a little something I thought about while re-reading Sani's Exchange Student. I love everybody who likes my story and who gives it thoughtful feedback. How big your name is? *Clears throat for New York accent* Forget about it!**_

_**Whew. Rant over. Now, enjoy.**_

_**...**_

_**WAIT! I almost forgot. Got a question about this in the reviews, and everybody needs to know this, so...**_

_**Ansible (noun) - A communication device able to communicate with any place instantaneously, regardless of distance. Basically, faster-than-light communication.**_

_**Ok. Now enjoy.**_

* * *

Edwards AFB Detachment 3, Nevada

Alas, Dimon's sleep was not to last. At 1000 hours exactly, twenty minutes after giving the order to ready the backup probe, his computer emitted an obnoxious ringing sound. Even the colonel's subconscious knew that it should be scared of that sound, because it meant only one thing.

The Director was calling.

Dimon awoke in a snap, rubbed all the wrinkles out of his uniform, and answered the videochat request.

"Hello, sir!" he said in the most convincing, fake, excited voice that he could muster.

"Greetings, colonel," the Director of Intelligence responded, and then he noticed the bags under Dimon's eyes as well as his slouched posture.

"You don't look well. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah…I just…didn't sleep last night," Dimon said. Technically, he wasn't lying. The insomnia was still messing with his body.

"Hah, understandable!" he chided. "The anticipation of these things is always worse than the actual event."

"Heh, heh, heh, yeah…" the colonel laughed quietly, eyes looking down and away. "By what pleasant thought process did you decide to call me?"

"You didn't answer my e-mail, Dimon. I figured you were still busy with something, so I waited a while and then contacted you in a way you couldn't ignore."

"I see," he said flatly.

"So, I've been dying to find out…How did the test go?"

Dimon was at a crossroads. He could lie, tell the Director that everything went as planned, and then what? That lie would backfire almost immediately, and he would be out on his ass in the desert. A course of action based on a lie couldn't end well, at least as far as Dimon could see.

But a dissatisfied, disappointed, and angry Director might just do the same thing. The only comfort the colonel would have is that he didn't lie.

That chance that the Director would appreciate the truth, though, guided Dimon's decision.

"Not…not so well, sir."

The Director's swiftly hardening face made the colonel cringe, but he moved forward with his explanation.

"...You see, the launch went as perfect as it could have. No problems there. The Lima signals transmitted fine, Einstein's Booster initiated successfully, but...it just never came back..."

"…Never came back?" he repeated, eyebrows raised.

"I wish I could tell you otherwise, sir."

"…I let you launch a multi-billion dollar probe into the depths of space, and you're going to sit here and tell me that it never came back?" He spit out each word as if it were poison, and by the grimace on his face, he might as well have ingested some.

Dimon, on the other hand, found himself being offended at the Director's words. Rather than being enraged, he was choosing to attack the colonel personally. It seemed that he was unaware of the fact that after the probe was launched, they really had no control over it.

Dimon decided it was time for a reminder.

"With all due respect, sir, it sounds like you're blaming me personally," he accused, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Blame travels up the chain of command, Dimon, you of all people should know this. Even I know it saved your arse once or twice."

"And _you _should know that once Einstein's Booster goes off, we have no control over the damned thing! No offense, but we must have briefed you about that at least ten times!"

"Then tell me. Why did it 'never come back'?" the Director patronized, making air quotes.

"We don't know," Dimon admitted. The Director had just put him in one hell of a predicament. Every possible answer seemed to lead to self-incrimination. But he had to say something more that 'we don't know,' otherwise, he was just making things worse for himself.

"It could have been any number of things, but the most popular explanations seem to be a collision with a heavenly object, or a…bad rotator motor…"

"And there we go. It's possible it wasn't your fault, but it is equally possible that it was. We don't live in a perfect world, Dimon. I wish I could tell the rest of the Project Columbus staff that the probe disappeared, but face it. Nobody's gonna accept that answer, especially when we're talking about government workers."

"Why can't you freaking help me out here?" the colonel asked, "I've been in enough stress for the last hour because of that blasted thing's disappearance, and now you have the nerve to tell me my name's going to be rubbed into the dirt because you need a scapegoat?!"

"You will watch your tone, Dimon, if you want any chance of digging your name out of the dirt." The Director's dark eyes bored into Dimon's soul, without the slightest hint of regret for his position. He had hardened himself against his subordinate's rage years ago, and although Dimon's could be particularly venomous, it was nothing he hadn't seen before.

The colonel's rage, however, would be enough to power the United States for 6 months if it was somehow harnessed. Luckily, that destructive power was unseeable, save for the steam rising out of his ears.

"So, have you done anything to remedy this situation?" the Director continued after letting the colonel cool down.

"I have the guys preparing the X-1492B10 right now, and it's set to—" he tried to explain, but he cut himself off. Where the Director's eerily shadowed face was a moment before, there was now a bunch of weirdly colored static.

"Director? Director!?" he shouted at the computer. The Director's voice, in choppy audio form, gave an incomprehensible response.

"Dimon-some kind of-?" it said.

"What's going on over there?" Dimon shouted stupidly, before realizing that the Director was probably having the same problem.

The signal started to get worse. The static was disappearing for seconds at a time, and the audio was cutting out entirely. The colonel pounded on the side of the computer tower, but expectedly, nothing happened.

"You better-before-tear you-!" it ranted unintelligibly. Dimon stared at it, befuddled, trying to figure out what to do. Something…or someone…was interfering with the signal, that much was obvious. The only problem with that is the only communication channels the Director ever used were 8192-bit encrypted channels, unable to be hacked by even the strongest supercomputer known to man.

In any case, though, the colonel was far from a computer expert. Maybe something benign was messing with the signal. Maybe the problem was on the Director's end. If one thing was for sure, he couldn't figure this out alone.

"Ah, fuck, things just keep getting worse and worse," Dimon muttered under his breath. He left his office quickly and rushed down the stairs to the familiar podium area. He picked up the microphone, cleared his parched throat, and asked for the only person here he had any resemblance of trust for.

"Ericson, up to my office, please. And, no, you're not in trouble, as long as you hurry up."

Dimon knew he had to hurry himself; it seemed Ericson could have had a career in track, given the speed he could run about.

Part of him hoped the signal had fixed itself, and that he would return to his office to find the Director staring out of the monitor again. As soon as those hopes rose, though, they were dashed by the familiar sound of glitchy audio. The static was still there, too, it all of its mocking salt-and-pepper colors.

"Fucking universe really wants to screw me over today," Dimon remarked, sitting back down in his chair and cradling his head in his hands. Being lost in his self-pity, he didn't notice Ericson scurrying into the room behind him.

The lead scientist, taking in the scene in front of him, had no idea what to do. Not only had he never seen Dimon so anguished, but he also didn't seem to notice Ericson's presence, either. His commanding officer was just sitting there, head in his hands, breathing deeply and roughly.

After about a minute or two of just standing there awkwardly, he tapped the colonel on the shoulder.

"Uh…sir…?"

Dimon rose out of his pitiful position. On any other day, he probably would have snapped at the kid for bothering him, but he was the only person that could really help him out at this point.

"Thanks for coming, Ericson," he said, voice cracking a bit. "I need your help. I was in the middle of a video-chat with the Director when this"—Dimon indicated the monitor—"happened. Can you tell me what's wrong, because I can't figure this out for the life of me."

Ericson, put off for a moment because of the unusual request, nevertheless started examining the hardware on Dimon's computer. He checked every cord, every hookup, and every status light. When everything checked out there, the scientist moved up to the software layer. He played around with the UDP settings, and he reset the DHCP configurations, all to no avail.

Next, he moved on to the video-chat application itself. Ericson tried re-requesting the encryption codes, but the program never got a coherent response.

"Well, something's interfering with the signal, that much is certain," the scientist muttered to himself. The only true way to fix such a problem was to remove the source of interference, but since Ericson had no clue what it could be, he was forced to resort to a simpler solution.

"Sir? Can I restart this program, and then you can call him back?" he asked.

"I wish I could, but the Director has to call me. I can't call the Director unless he gives me a passkey."

"Then I don't know what to tell you, sir. If I knew what was interfering with the signal, I could be a little more helpful, but—"

"Dimon! Are you still there?!" the Director's stern and agitated voice suddenly shouted. Both Dimon and Ericson nearly jumped out of their skin.

"Director?" the colonel said stupidly.

"Yeah, what the hell did you do to my signal?"

"Hey, with all due respect, cool it, sir. I'm just as confused as you are."

"Well then, who's that standing next to you? This is supposed to be a private conversation, anyway."

"This is Ericson, my lead scientist. He was trying to help me figure out what went wrong with our signal. That kind of fixed itself, though, so he was just leaving." As he said this, he nudged Ericson roughly on his shoulder so he would take the hint. The squirrelly scientist didn't need any more convincing, and he soon vacated Dimon's office.

Once the door latched behind them, the Director continued where he left off.

"Now that that's over with, then, what are you doing to remedy this situation?"

Dimon cleared his throat, stalling for time as he tried to remember his answer.

"Alright, well, um, I have the guys preparing the X-1492B10 right now, and it's set to launch at 1045 Mountain Time, sir."

"I'll give you credit, Dimon. At least you did the logical thing. I shall call you back at 1105, then. Good luck."

"Thank you, sir," the colonel tried to say, but the Director had already cut the link.

/\\\\\\\\\\\

McCloud CAB

After retrieving the ansible from the projects vault, Lance carried it back up to General Pepper's office.

The ansible itself was nothing special to look at; in fact, when closed, it looked just like a thick briefcase made of stainless steel.

Lance placed it on the general's desk and opened it up as Pepper looked on. The top half contained the main screen, and it was most likely the only screen in Lylat that did not use holographic technology by now. The bottom half was mostly taken up by a keyboard; next to it was a headset with microphone. The arctic fox took the headset out, plugged the end into the proper jack, and put it on. This was in case video communication could not be established.

The major now turned on the device. A short hum was heard, and shortly after, the screen lit up. There was nothing on it but a prompt to insert information about who was to be called.

The first option was to choose between a specific bandwidth, or to communicate with any applicable signal. Lance chose the latter, since he had no idea what the inhabitants of System 77 used to communicate.

Now, the ansible asked for the coordinates.

While Lance was gone, Pepper had done his research and printed off Planet 77-3's coordinates, as well as other planetary data such as radius, orbital period, and the length of a day. When the vulpine held out his paw, the general placed the still-warm piece of paper into it.

Lance looked over the sheet, typing in the coordinates with his right paw as he read. Once the ansible accepted them, it asked for a search radius.

"Now, since this was originally developed for military purposes, it communicates over 8192-bit encrypted channels. I don't know what level of encryption the inhabitants of System 77 use, if any, so we're just going to have to hope for the best," Lance pointed out as he entered Planet 77-3's radius into the ansible. Pepper nodded his head in acknowledgement.

With one quick stroke of the Enter key, the ansible began searching for signals matching the description.

Nobody spoke. As the cheesy searching "animation" played onscreen, Pepper kept one paw behind his back with fingers crossed. He didn't say it, but he was incredibly anxious to give the people of System 77 a huge piece of his mind for what was happening just a mile north. And that could only happen if this communication worked.

At this point, Lance was desensitized to the events in the city. Instead of demanding reparations, the vulpine was much more interested in meeting the alien life. He truly hoped things wouldn't come down to an interstellar war. He just wanted to be friends.

Finally, the ansible beeped happily. To both of their surprise, it had found an applicable signal! Lance immediately and excitedly selected it.

It took a few moments to establish a connection. When it did, though, the screen changed to warped, purplish static.

"—it's set to—" someone on the other end said.

"H-hello?" Lance said. There was no reply. The vulpine and Pepper exchanged a worried glance before he tried again.

"This is Major Buddy Lance of the Cornerian United Defense Force, requesting communication," he said in a more official tone.

"What is this-sick joke-?!" an agitated voice replied. Neither Lance nor Pepper could figure out if that was supposed to be a coherent sentence, or the result of the suddenly glitched audio.

"What's-over there?" the first voice spoke.

"This is Major Buddy Lance of the Cornerian United Defense Force, identify yourselves, over," the vulpine tried again.

"-re-establish the signal-I-limb from-!" the belligerent one yelled.

"What's going on, Lance?" Pepper asked, confused.

"I…I don't know. The signal's there, I know that, but the ansible can't seem to get the whole thing. Half of it just seems to get lost," he explained.

"Can you fix it?" the general asked almost immediately.

"I don't know how. Remember, we only tested it once, and this problem didn't happen. I warned you we were on our own with this thing."

Broken audio continued to be emitted from the ansible as the two pondered their options. They were truly navigating through uncharted waters in this communication attempt.

Lance began blindly adjusting some knobs below the main screen. Originally intended to help improve video quality, it was about the best the arctic fox could do in the current situation. Unfortunately, the only thing he managed to achieve was to change the color of the static from purple to teal.

"Fucking universe-today," one of the voices on the ansible muttered. Lance suddenly felt a kinship with the person on the other end; it had just said what the vulpine was secretly thinking.

Pepper, meanwhile, was debating how long to let this go on. From where the old canine was standing, Lance was trying his best with the ansible. The general hoped that his chief scientific officer could figure it out, but his years of reading subordinate's body language, coupled with the quick smile the vulpine gave when someone muttered "Fucking universe," told him that the vulpine was very frustrated.

He decided to give it another minute or two before ending the experiment. Over that time, what sounded like a troubleshooting attempt came from the ansible. It somehow reassured the two; at least they weren't the only ones with the problem.

The signal never cleared itself up, though, and the general went ahead and told Lance to shut it down.

"Sorry it didn't work out, sir," Lance apologized after shutting the ansible down and repacking the headset.

"It's not your fault, Lance. I'm just angry because we're back where we started," Pepper clarified.

"So what are we going to do now?"

"What time is it, Lance?"

"13:55 Cornerian Standard Time, sir, but I don't—"

"I don't know," Pepper started, cutting him off. "But I'm not going to make the same mistake I made five years ago. I am not going to decide this alone. Come with me, Lance. We're going to meet with the highest ranking officers of each planet, and I want you there to explain exactly what has happened in the last hour. Take that datasheet with you, too. Hopefully, they can help us make sense of everything."

With that, the general and the major left for the emergency communications room in the lowest level of the McCloud complex. They could not risk being bothered now.

/\\\\\\\\\\\\

Great Fox, Cornerian Orbit

One long ride through Corneria's atmosphere later, Fox saw his home ship floating out in space. It wasn't a very pleasant ride; instead of being able to enjoy the sky changing from blue to black, and being able to watch the buildings flatten and shrink underneath him, all of his thoughts kept coming back to his sore stomach.

Either way, he was finally at the Dreadnought-class cruiser that was his home. The vulpine navigated his way into the hangar and climbed out of his ship.

There wasn't anything he really felt like doing. He just wandered around the Great Fox without any aim or direction. He saw ROB in the control room, he passed by Peppy having a late lunch, and he observed Slippy dozing off on his bed, with the door to his room wide open

Eventually, he found Falco watching TV in the lounge, and the vulpine decided to join him.

"Where have _you _been?" Falco asked as Fox took a seat next to him on the couch.

"…I tried to take a day off," he responded flatly.

"How do you try to take a day off? It seems like you either take one or you don't."

"Yeah, well, shit happens. This weird object from space crashed west of the city. I still don't know why, but I thought I'd better come back, in case it's actually important," he explained. There was venom in his voice; the stomachache and the cancellation of his plans were both putting him in a bad mood.

"See, there you go overthinking things again. No wonder you can't relax."

"At least I leave the Great Fox once in a while. You, on the other hand, just sit in here all day watching the FlashBack Channel."

"In my defense, this is NOT the FlashBack Channel," the avian defended.

"Then what is it? Porn?"

"No! Wait, what?"

Fox started cracking up, disbelieving what he just said.

"I'm just kidding, Falco. What you do when I'm gone is none of my business," he said with a wide grin.

"Reeeeeal mature, Foxie. Reeeal mature…"

Fox shook his head, trying not to laugh audibly. Friendly banter between the two was always fun, if a bit base.

Eventually, the vulpine's eyes rolled up to the TV screen. Well, it wasn't really a screen, more of a holographic projection, but same difference. It didn't look like anything Falco would normally watch, though, so after a minute or two, he decided to ask about it.

"So what show is this, exactly?"

"It's one of those Lylat Wars documentaries," he answered.

"Ah…I get it now…" Fox said slyly. "Stroking the ol' ego, are we?"

"And I don't understand why you don't. We saved the system, brah, you don't have to be so humble about it all the time."

"Falco, you don't understand. Practically every minute I'm off this ship I get harassed by the paparazzi. Don't you remember the first day off I tried to take, a month after the Lylat Wars?"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't stop complaining about it for the next month!"

"I complained about it because it was that bad! I couldn't even take two steps before someone would shout 'OH MY GOD IT'S FOX MCCLOUD' and begin to take candid pictures, or ask for autographs, or whatever. Why else would I put these stupid blue highlights in my fur?"

"Because you secretly like the color blue, it's obvious."

Fox face-pawed. "Look, all I'm trying to say is that being humble has its benefits. If I went around telling everybody that I'm awesome because I saved everybody's lives, not only would it get me nowhere, I'd look like a bigger jerk than you."

"Are you quite finished with your rant, Foxie? Because I really want to watch this show."

Fox sighed, rolled his eyes, and gave up. There was no point in changing Falco; he'd just stalwartly remain himself. That is, unless he dislikes you, in which case he'll be more annoying than usual.

The vulpine rested a couple paws on his stomach. No longer was it just aching; now it was grumbling in a dissatisfied manner. He curled up his legs a little in an attempt to feel more comfortable, but when he did, a very foul tasting burp rose out of his body. His muzzle opened wide, and a very protracted, guttural noise left his mouth.

Falco, startled by the sudden, disgusting noise, scooted a few feet away from Fox. The stench still reached his beak instantly, and he was left holding a feathery wing over it in revulsion.

"Dude, what in Lylat did you eat?" he asked abhorrently.

"A Furnando's sandwich, but it's not—ugh—sitting well."

"You think?!"

Another foul burp started rising very overtly through Fox's esophagus.

"Do we still have some antacid left?" the vulpine asked hastily.

"There should be some in the main bathroom, under the ibuprofen, but—"

"Thanks!" he yelled, already sprinting out of the room. Fox ran up the nearby stairs, around a corner, and into the bathroom, which luckily no one was using. He tore open the medicine cabinet and ripped the antacid box off the shelf. Fortunately, there were just enough pills for one dose, and Fox hoped the ache would pass on its own.

The vulpine popped the pills and washed them down with some tap water, not caring that the second foul burp released itself in the middle of the process. He took a couple quick breaths, calmed himself down, and then promptly returned to the couch.

Falco, noticing this, offered a snide comment.

"Well that was melodramatic."

"Not from my end, it wasn't," Fox pointed out.

"It wasn't, huh? Look, you just bolted up the stairs because of a tiny little air bubble in your belly."

"Falco, my stomach has been aching since I left Corneria."

"So? You probably just stuffed yourself silly again. You tend to do that a lot at Furnando's."

Fox thought about this for a moment. It was true that he tended to overeat at that sandwich shop; he had done it since James took Falco, Wolf, and him to the restaurant for the first time, back when they were nine. It was one of the vulpine's fondest memories from his kithood. But he had made sure to control himself this time...hadn't he?

Just then, another answer found its way into Fox's brain, and everything seemed to make sense.

"I'll tell you who's to blame here," he explained over another angry rumble from his stomach. "It's all this goddamned special space food. Remember how it took us weeks to adjust to it right after the war started? Well now, my body's so used to all the preservatives and chemicals that it can't handle the fresh food. No freaking wonder it hurts."

"Yeah, whatever. Just be quiet, I can't hear my show."

Once again, the avian got bored halfway through the explanation and tried to tune it out. Fox hated that short attention span of his, but there was nothing anyone could do. Life ends with death, ships are downed with lasers, and Falco will be Falco. These are eternal and unchangeable truths.

"Oh, by the way, Pepper called earlier," Falco suddenly remembered.

"What!? Why didn't you tell me before?" Fox exclaimed, bolting up. A possible Pepper call was the only reason he returned to the Great Fox.

"Eh..." the avian dodged, shrugging his shoulders.

Fox sighed and gripped his temples. "Falco...you are such an idiot sometimes...What did he want?"

"I don't think I can tell you if I'm gonna be treated like that," Falco said with crossed arms.

"Are you shitting me?"

"Up-up-up...ask me nicely."

"Falco, is this really-"

"Ask...me...nicely."

The vulpine face-pawed and stared angrily at the wall before relenting.

"Fine...jeez..._please_ enlighten me on the reason Pepper called."

"See, now was that so hard?"

"Pretty much..." Fox muttered under his breath.

"Anyway, for some reason he wanted to talk to you specifically. When I told him you had gone out, he wasn't happy about it, but he said he'd call again after about an hour. Also, he gave me specific orders to not call back under any circumstances."

"Well, that's certainly odd..." he commented.

"Oh, yeah, and this whole thing happened about 25 minutes ago," Falco added.

Checking the clock, Fox found that it read 14:25. That meant Pepper called at 14:00, while the vulpine was still making his way back to the Great Fox.

As he thought on this, he recognized that General Pepper's behavior was definitely out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, this also confirmed his suspicions. Something had certainly gone wrong. Whether it was related to the probe or not, Fox had yet to find out, but he knew _when_ he would find out.

As soon as the clock struck 15, he would have his answer.

* * *

_**Alright. I really want to give Sanitarium a response in my classic "Rainbow's Responses" segment, but there is one fact stopping me. His review is listed under chapter 1. So I have no idea how much he read. Bro, if you made it this far, show me a sign! D:**_

_**Anyway, for those of you who I can confirm reading everything, here's my feedback on your feedback!**_

_**Comrade: Don't worry. There will be a time for a little mushy-ness, but it certainly won't be anytime soon. Don't thank me for the writing style, either. Thank Tom Clancy. In fact, he was my inspiration for this whole story. So...yeah.  
**_

_**Jedelas: Well, how would you feel if your life's work for the past few years came crashing down in one event? xD  
Yeah, I know Cpt. Fox lubs his womance, though. Still don't know what Syxx spends all his time doing, however. Maybe someone can enlighten us?**_

_**paintballadict9: Only over 50k words? Well that seems a bit...discriminatory, I mean, there are a lot of great one-shots out there...ah, well. To each his own, I guess. Glad you decided to bend your own 'rule' for my story. :D  
**_


	6. One Last Chance

_****__**VERY IMPORTANT A/N: I'll be honest, I have some ideas floating around for another full-length story. However...I really like updating every second Thursday for you guys, and if I was working on two stories at once, then that just wouldn't happen. So, I ask you this: Do you want two updates per month on one (this) story, or one update a month on two stories? Fly over to my profile page and send in a vote, and I'll share the results soon!**_

**_Meanwhile, enjoy the newest chapter!_**

* * *

Omaha, Nebraska

As he navigated the freeways of Omaha and Bellevue on his motorcycle, Josefson couldn't help but wonder what would happen once he reached Offutt. Of course, he was sure nobody would shoot him on sight, but there were still plenty of things that could go wrong.

He tried to tell himself that it was worth it to try and get back to his job at Offutt, but each time he repeated it, it somehow got less and less reassuring.

The weather wasn't helping his resolve, either. Although it wasn't raining, a layer of thick, dark clouds resolutely blocked the sun. The cold wind whipping at his body didn't help all that much, either. It seemed the whole world wanted him to think pessimistically.

Josefson did his best to push past it. He tried to think about what would happen if the brigadier general actually relented. He tried to think about the first thing he would do, and it didn't take long to find an obvious answer.

The first thing he would do was give Parker the finger.

Finally, the lieutenant colonel broke a smile. Sadly, though, it was cut short by the realization that he was about to miss his exit. Due to his motorcycle's small size, he was able to swerve across three lanes of traffic within a fourth of a mile so he could safely exit onto Highway 75.

_I guess I'm thinking too hard… _he thought with a shake of the head. He couldn't believe he nearly forgot that to give Parker the finger, he needed to be _at_ the base first.

Josefson let his mind blank out as he traversed southbound Highway 75. Quickly, the heavier traffic gave way to more open road, and the many billboards and signs gave way to a flat landscape lined with suburban homes.

Soon enough, he was out of Omaha and into Bellevue, a smaller town perched just to the southeast of Nebraska's biggest city. Highway 370 was one of the Bellevue's main roads, running west to east across the center of the town. He wouldn't need to stay on it for long; the exit he needed to take was but a half-mile from the 75/370 interchange.

He glanced at the signs hanging above the highway; they told the colonel that the said interchange was in two miles.

"_And counting," is what those signs should say._

He slapped that thought out of his head as soon as it popped up. It was no secret that Josefson had somewhat of an obsession with the design of roadways and the signs used on them. And it wouldn't have been a new occurrence if that obsession had distracted him from his exit.

Luckily, he saw it coming, and he was able to suppress it long enough to get off all the highways and on to Fort Calhoun Road. Another half-mile down that street, and the lieutenant colonel was on Nelson Drive, the main route into Offutt Air Force Base.

The only outside security was the small guardhouse in the middle of the road. Most of the security procedures had been moved within the complex once the Cold War ended and the United States Strategic Command no longer had to be protected from Soviet spies. Or so he'd been told; he hadn't been around long enough to know for sure.

Nevertheless, Josefson pulled up to the tiny building and removed his helmet. The bored-looking guard noticed him and opened the window.

"Name?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Erick Josefson," he said proudly.

"Identification?"

Josefson pulled out his wallet and handed over both his driver's license and his Offutt passkey which let him open almost any door in the base.

The guard took them and examined them thoroughly. Due to the absence of sunlight, he had to use a flashlight to search for the hidden seals, but all was in order nonetheless. He was about to press the button to open the gate when he suddenly remembered being told something by the base's commander. Something involving the motorcycle rider's name. Something other than the fact that it sounded like he was the son of Josef Stalin.

When the whole of the memory finally revealed itself, he pulled his arm away from the small green button. The guard calmly returned both IDs and said in his most official voice:

"I'm sorry, sir, but I am under specific orders not to let you in."

"Oh, please, from who?" Josefson shot back.

"Brigadier General MacAllen, sir."

_I see. So he IS playing hardball, _the lieutenant colonel realized. He would have to step up his own game if he wanted in this Tuesday. He only wondered how far he would eventually go.

"Alright…what's your rank, soldier?" Josefson asked the guard in an almost serene voice.

"Staff Sergeant, sir, but—"

"Alright, I outrank you. Now, let me-"

"BUT...I am a colonel when speaking to you only, Josefson," the guard forcibly finished his sentence. "You can thank MacAllen for that. Now, I order you to get out of here."

_Well crap, it seems he DID think of everything…_

To Josefson, this was a hell of a crossroads. He could turn back now, go home, see how much more Bob Barker he could take before bashing his TV to bits, and be entirely safe from trouble. Or, he could try the other option that just reared its head. An option that was so drastic, so sudden, so crazy, and so unexpected that it just might work.

It also had the potential to get him demoted, shunned, or worse: fired.

At this point, though, anything seemed worth it.

Instead of turning around and complying with the stuck-up guard, he drove forward. Not straight into the base, of course, that was practically a death wish. Instead, he opened up the door to the guardhouse using his passkey.

To the guard, this all happened very fast. One minute, Josefson's head left his field of vision; the next, he was barging through the door on the left.

"Sir, what are you doing? You're not allowed in here!" he screamed, but it was futile. He tried to reach for his gun, a Taser, a blunt object, anything to get the crazy officer out of the guardhouse, but Josefson was too quick. The guard soon found himself duct-taped to the wall with almost no range of motion.

"I just need to make a few calls, ok?" Josefson replied calmly, returning the roll of duct-tape to the emergency kit on his bike.

"Are you TRYING to get fired?" he yelled, still struggling like crazy against the thick grey tape.

Josefson suddenly broke out in laughter. Not even the lieutenant colonel fully understood what was so funny about that statement, but there he was, just a few points of willpower from doubling over.

"Believe it or not, I'm actually trying to get back to work," he revealed, still laughing somewhat.

When these words settled into the guard's head, he realized that Josefson was absolutely psycho. No buts about it. So he just kind of shut up and tuned himself out.

Josefson was busy typing away at the computer, trying to get a Skype link with Parker and Brigadier General MacAllen. For good measure, he pointed the webcam away from the hastily imprisoned guard. The lieutenant colonel was techinally already on the base grounds; he didn't need to be implicated for anything else.

Of course, Parker answered first.

"Hey, hey, Erick, how's your forced vacation?" he mocked pretty much immediately. Josefson kept a stern face.

"Parker, do you know where I am?" he asked flatly.

"There's a blank wall behind you, my friend. So…it's kinda hard to—"

"Forget it, you'll never guess. Do you know where MacAllen is?" he cut his wingman off, not wanting to take the chance of Parker guessing correctly.

"You know I don't really follow his activites. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you, since you're probably just going to beg for entrance into the base anyway," Parker told his superior brashly. "So unless you have something interesting to—"

"Josefson, is this important?" MacAllen's voice said, cutting off Parker's babble.

"Ok, so I guess I can't finish a sentence today," the wingman complained.

"Parker? He called you, too?" the brigadier general asked.

"With all due respect, general, please ignore my annoying wingman," Josefson said after face-palming.

"So what do you want, then? As if I didn't already know."

"I want to get back to work, sir," he requested simply and formally.

"You know that's not going to happen, Josefson," came the expected reply.

"If only you knew where I am and what I've done," Josefson mused out loud. "Heh-heh-heh."

"Look, personally, I don't care. Unless you have something relevant to talk about, I'm ending this conversation."

"General, is that you?" the guard suddenly shouted, snapping back to reality. "Did you know that Lieutenant Colonel Erick Josefson is _completely insane!?_"

"Sergeant Duper?" MacAllen recognized. "Where are you? I thought I assigned you to guard duty!"

Josefson stepped back and smiled. The guard was about to do all the explaining for him.

"I am on guard duty! Your crazy subordinate barged in here and duct-taped me to the wall, sir!"

"Josefson, is this true?" MacAllen accused, taken aback by the seemingly off the wall incrimination.

"Regretfully, yes, sir," Josefson explained, finally realizing the severity of his actions. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I was just so bored, sir. Every time I tried to focus on something else, my thoughts came right back here. You took my livelihood away from me. I guess I got a little crazy."

MacAllen looked sideways and let a sigh escape his lungs. He almost felt bad for the lieutenant colonel; he was the most loyal kid that the general had ever seen.

"But now that I've come this far, I'm not giving up," Josefson added.

And now the brigadier general remembered why he forced the vacation in the first place. Josefson always put so much conviction into everything. Sometimes it was desirable, but mostly, it was a complete nuisance. He had wanted to teach the kid a lesson about knowing when to stop.

Now, it was time to up the ante.

"Ok, if you won't leave by your own will, then I have a proposition for you," he said calmly, with a slightly evil smile. "Well, it's not really a proposition, more of a way to force you out of here. Starting at"—MacAllen checked his watch—"11:35, which is one minute and thirty seconds from now, every 15 seconds you remain in the guardhouse, you will be demoted one rank. Which means you'll lose all your privileges, Parker will be your superior, and you'll lose…let's say your _opportunity…_come next Monday."

Josefson grimaced. If he thought MacAllen was playing hardball before, now he was playing a game of savage-ball.

"The clock is ticking, Josefson. What do you choose?" he pointed out, leaning back in his chair and holding his hands behind his head.

The brigadier general was certainly driving a hard bargain. Instead of picking one of the worst-case scenarios, he combined them all into one ugly conglomerate of terribleness. Josefson would admit, though, that it was quite clever of his superior to come up with such a thing.

He had a strange feeling in the back of his mind, though, that MacAllen was only bluffing. Josefson knew how much the brigadier general appreciated his epic work habits. He also knew that if he were to be demoted, that would only mean a greater workload on his superior. He didn't want to just wait it out, though, it would be too risky. Parker being the squad commander would be something straight out of hell. There had to be something he could do to expose the bluff before it could have any consequences.

So Josefson came up with the perfect speech to do that.

"Fine. Demote me. Send me all the way back down to enlistee if you want to. Take away the testing opportunity. Let Parker be the superior, and let him make my life a living hell every day. Just know this, though, sir. If you do that, rest assured that I will work even harder and with even more conviction than before to get right back up to where I am now. So now it's _your _choice. End the forced vacation now, or I'll stay in this guardhouse until Duper and I drop dead."

MacAllen couldn't believe his ears. Josefson had seen right through his ruse like it had been made of spotless glass. Not only that, but he had also countered it with an incredible amount of serenity.

He knew it was time to face facts. His little lesson was a failure. It seemed to have only increased Josefson's ambition and conviction. MacAllen hung his head in defeat.

"Well…I guess there's something to be said for someone with such passion for his job and this wonderful country…" he admitted softly.

Josefson was about to jump for joy. He had just called Brigadier General Pike MacAllen's bluff, and countered it with quite the ultimatum of his own. Unfortunately, MacAllen started talking again, prematurely ending the lieutenant colonel's celebration.

"Parker, you know what to do."

"Yes, sir," Parker acknowledged.

"Wait…what are you…?" Josefson murmured in confusion. What was Parker about to do?

"See you next Monday, Lieutenant Colonel," MacAllen said, almost cheerfully.

"Hey! You mean that after all this, you're still not going to-!" but he was yelling at nothing. Both Parker and MacAllen had already hung up.

_Fine, then. I'll just enter myself, _he decided rashly. He grabbed his helmet and stormed out of the guardhouse. Now was the time to drive directly into the base. No more talking, begging, and persuading; now was the time for doing.

"Hey, wait! Come back here and remove me from this wall!" Duper yelled after the lieutenant colonel, but it was in vain. He was already mounting his motorcycle.

As he started his engine, once again noting his low fuel level, he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching from the base. He looked up warily to see all of his men forming up in a semicircle around him and his bike. Each one was wearing a bulletproof vest, and each one was carrying an M16.

The one on the far right was the one to speak up.

"I warned you, sir," Parker said blankly. "Under MacAllen's orders, kindly leave the premises."

"Parker…there are no words to describe how angry I am at you and MacAllen right now…" Josefson spoke gruffly.

"That's nice, now please leave, sir," Parker repeated, motioning the barrel of his gun towards the exit.

The stone faces around Josefson and Parker's incredibly serious demeanor were very convincing, but he knew they would never raise a gun at their commanding officer. Once again, though, he felt the need to test his enemy's resolve. Slowly, he raised his right arm and stuck it into his jacket. He twitched his index finger, and started to pull his arm out.

Suddenly, the sound of fifteen safeties being switched off and the sound of fifteen M16s being primed broke the silence. All of the gun barrels were pointed directly at Josefson's head.

"Do not play games, sir," Parker commanded with the same flat tone. Josefson raised both his empty hands into the air as a response.

_Well, shit, they finally got me cornered,_ Josefson thought. _And all this just because I seem to like my job too much._

He hoped back on his motorcycle, requesting the way to be cleared. Then, he headed home, beaten fair and square by everybody else at Offutt Air Force Base.

/\\\\\\\\\\\

Edwards AFB Detachment 3, Nevada

"Alright..." Dimon sighed. "T-minus five minutes. You know what to do, Ericson."

"Run final diagnostics," he commanded half-heartedly.

Both of them were back on the podium area, looking on as the scientists resumed their keyboard orchestra. The backup probe had been prepared and loaded; now all that was left was to launch it and hope for a better outcome.

Once again, the column of white boxes appeared on the left end of the projection, with each one turning green as each diagnostic finished successfully. Something was certainly way different this time around, though. Yeah, there was another chance for success. Technically, there were ten more chances. However, there was no more heart in it anymore. Not even Dimon felt any sort of rush, and he had been looking forward to this day more than anyone else on Earth.

The colonel looked on tiredly as the line of white changed into a line of green.

"Warm up the transponders," Ericson ordered. Even his voice was devoid of emotion.

Of course, the X-1492B10 used the same exact system as the first probe. It utilized a very similar method of detection; there were two types of signals, Lima and Bravo. Lima signals were broadcasted at first, and once the transponder turned around, it switched over to Bravo signals. The only difference this time was that it used radio signals instead of gamma rays.

There was still a graph for both types of signals, of course, but instead of giant Geiger counters, the detection was akin to tuning into a radio station. As each transponder (remember, there are ten of them) warmed up in turn, the Lima graph resembled a set of stairs with a blue outline.

"Begin conversion of mass."

Dimon couldn't believe how quickly the time was passing the second time around. It seemed that time was a car, and the colonel's disinterest and pessimism were pushing the accelerator to the floor.

Ericson's voice was much different as well. Sure, it was flat, but it was also steady as a rock. It was certainly far removed from the cheesy stutter that plagued him during the first ill-fated launch.

_Who needs confidence when nobody cares anyway… _Dimon observed dryly.

"Power up the launcher," Ericson said.

The keyboards kept tapping, and semi-important announcements kept traveling between the scientists on the floor, but something else was missing. The air was clean this time. Armpit musk was not emanating from the bodies of eighty-five of the best minds on the planet. It would've been almost pleasant if it wasn't so subtle and overshadowed by low expectations.

"Angle the launch."

That meant T-minus one minute. The same faint whooshing noise passed through everyone's ears, but this time, the reaction was indifference instead of stress-induced fear.

That seemed to be the theme this time around. Passivity, indifference, exasperation, and the like. And Dimon couldn't say he was helping change that theme.

"Open the launch doors."

Dimon took a few deep breaths. Even with all the negativity in the air, anticipatory butterflies still managed to sneak into his stomach. Even with the exceedingly low chance of success, somehow a tiny piece of him still thought things would work out. It was like buying a lottery ticket. You know you won't win it, but there's still a twinge of hope right before you see those winning numbers.

"Mix the fuel."

No matter what happened from this point onward, Dimon took comfort in knowing that he was probably screwed either way.

"Warm up the rockets..."

Dimon didn't bother counting down this time.

"Prepare for current surge...reduce friction...and launch."

It was probably the most unenthusiastic launch command anyone had ever heard, but the message still got across all the same, because a louder whoosh echoed off the curved walls.

"It's cleared the launcher, sir," someone reported.

Dimon tried to retrieve the mental picture of the launching probe that he had earlier, but his mind's eye was resolutely closed. To use an analogy, it was as if sleeping off a pessimism hangover.

"Escape velocity has been reached," another scientist reported ten seconds later. "Gravity's influence is less than 0.01 meters per second squared."

"Adjust the probe's path," Ericson responded. He said this even though, in all likelihood, none of the transponders would return, and even if they did, there was no way to control which one would land where.

Still, protocols were protocols, no matter how you sliced it. At least if these probes landed near a populated area, the only thing that would happen was radio interference.

"Prepare to initiate Einstein's Booster."

Nobody laughed. Nothing was funny anymore. The second launching sequence was just one big blur to everyone. The six to eight minutes of complete anticipation, stress, and optimism that had defined the first launch were gone and dead.

Dimon glanced at the projection. T-plus one minute thirty seconds.

"The probe reports that Einstein's Booster is ready, sir," someone said.

"On my mark…" Ericson started.

_Probe gets lost in deep space in…_ Dimon was ready to count down in his head.

"Five…" _Five…_

"Four…" _Four…_

"Three…" _Three…_

"Two…" _Two…_

"One…" _One…_

"Start it." _Bye-bye forever, probe._

The sound of incessant keyboard taps stopped as the Lima graph dropped back down to zero. Once again, Dimon started counting the seconds on his watch, although he knew there was no point. Once fifteen seconds passed, he looked up to find that his pessimistic expectations had been fulfilled.

The Bravo line was still at zero.

"Knew it," Dimon whispered to himself.

If it was his choice, the colonel probably would have ended the launch procedure then and there. And if it were the scientists' choice, they would have done the same thing. Just like the path alignment step, though, this was guided by protocol. The earliest one was able to abort would be T-plus 10 minutes.

Sure, it was an annoying wait, but none of the scientists were arguing with one another this time. Dimon had made sure that asking why the probes went missing was a moot question.

Instead, everyone just hung around silently, waiting for the clock to count its way up to 10 minutes. People tapped their fingers on desks, their feet on the floor, and that guy in the front row would have fallen asleep again if it weren't for the guy sitting next to him.

The Bravo line remained at zero.

"Abort this, guys," Ericson said with a sigh when the appropriate time came.

"Welp, we tried," Dimon said candidly. "Go ahead and go to lunch, I have some things to take care of back here."

By that, he meant that he had another unpleasant conversation with the Director forthcoming.

And by that, he meant he had only ten more minutes to enjoy being a colonel.

/\\\\\\\\\\\\

The Lylat System

Again, Dimon and his team had no way of knowing that everything up to each transponder's return sequence had gone absolutely perfectly. The launch, the separation of each individual transponder, all of it was flawless. Heck, one may even argue that in the hour and forty-five minutes, the Earth had rotated, so there should be an even better chance of success.

Fate had other plans.

Yes, it is true that the Earth moved. On the other hand, so had every single planet in the Lylat System.

And this time, there were more projectiles.

All ten transponders collided with something while they worked to turn themselves around and report happily back to Earth. The first burned up harmlessly in Lylat's minor star, Solar. Two more crash-landed into Aquas' vast oceans, sending rippling waves outwards but otherwise causing no damage.

The other seven would not have such innocuous demises.

Four of the transponders dug deep into the arid desert world of Katina; they left craters tens of meters deep and hundreds of meters wide and deposits of crystallized quartz. Due to the planet's sparsely populated nature and the lack of large structures, though, no one was injured and no property damage was incurred. At most, it would decorate a small corner in the "Curiosities" section of a newspaper.

Three transponders remained. And only one planet in the Lylat system remained.

The first two were headed towards the far north and south areas of the planet, and they would not cause any more damage than any of the other seven.

The final transponder, however, was headed for a spot deeply snuggled into a temperate climate zone. This spot, coincidentally, was home to quite the city. It was home to a city already being plagued by the first symptoms of radiation poisoning. It was home to the biggest city in the Lylat System. Home to Corneria City.

And this final transponder was itching to cause some damage.

* * *

_**Rainbow's Responses, Round 5! (what a neat bit of alliteration :D)**_

_**Puppet-Master2013:**__** You do bring up some very good points, and I respect your opinion entirely. That being said, if you don't want to be accused of hating furries, then you should probably avoid using terms such as 'furfag' and quote, "kick their extra terrestial ass back to dinosaur land," unquote. Glad you like the story, though, and I'll see ya around.**_

_**PointCaliber: You forgot to mention that this Andross guy also murdered your character's dad, and if you take the SNES route, your character's mom as well. Not only are you a badass fox, you're a badass fox bent on revenge. If you look at it this way, saving Lylat is just an added benefit. c:  
**_

_**Officer Hot-Pants: ahhhhaha...I see what you did there. Fallout 3 is awesome, isn't it?  
**_

_**Twilit Smash Nova: Believe it or not, that was actually the original plan: misleading scraps of conversation leading to a pre-emptive strike against the humans. But, I figured that wouldn't be enough, and so now we...well...you'll see...**_


	7. Expertly Dashed Hopes

_**A/N:** _**_Current poll results...one vote for each option. Geez, guys, way to be helpful._**

**_Seriously, though, I'm actually taking this poll into account as I consider what to write, so vote, vote, vote._**

**_Anyway, no need to wait any longer, cliffy haters, the next chapter is here. Enjoy!_**

* * *

McCloud CAB

"I'm glad everybody could make it," Pepper announced formally, taking his seat.

"Did we have a choice?" one of the Zoness delegates, a brown and red avian, pointed out with a snarky tone.

Pepper and Lance were the only two physically present in the emergency communications room, of course. Everybody else was connected via videochat. As such, a semicircle of eight holographic upper bodies surrounded the general and the chief scientific officer. Two from Katina, two from Zoness, two from MacBeth, and one each from Aquas and Fichina. There should have been nine; Pepper had wanted Fox McCloud to be in on the discussion, but Falco had told him that the leader of Star Fox was elsewhere.

"This is no time for jokes, Freimont," Pepper responded sternly. "Lance, read them the report."

The arctic fox cleared his throat.

"Yes, sir. At approximately 1305 Cornerian Standard Time, a then unknown object entered the Cornerian atmosphere at an exceedingly high velocity. Before we could even try to make contact with the object, it crashed down sixteen miles west-south-west of Corneria City.

"General Pepper soon dispatched my team and me to investigate the wreckage. We loaded all of our gear onto a helicopter and headed out.

"Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the crash site. As protocol dictates, I started the examination by using a radmeter to check for any dangerous radioactive materials or emissions.

"Starting on the side facing away from the city, I began to move in a slow circle around the dark grey, elongated object. At first, the radmeter only read background radiation. As soon as I reached the end facing the city, though, my instrument spiked to over one million rads per hour.

"I jumped away as quickly as I could. There seemed to be a concentrated beam of gamma radiation emanating from the object. To get more information on how the beam was widening and weakening, I decided to stand about a meter away and check the strength and width once more.

"We would have destroyed it then and there, but we didn't have any munitions or explosives to do it with. Instead, I got everything packed up, we all got back into the helicopter, and I started doing some calculations in my head immediately.

"At this point, I contacted General Pepper and told him of my findings. To make a long story short, I'll just give the results now. While the object was on the Cornerian surface, everywhere in Corneria City between Grennick and Flyer's Park was taking about 800 to 1100 rads per hour.

"The object was only actively releasing radiation for thirty minutes; however, a high enough dose has been given to each resident of Corneria City to all but ensure a 50% mortality rate. To put it simply, even with the best medical treatment, about half of the city's population will die."

Lance paused for a moment to let things sink in. The silence was so thick, and so profound, that it was almost…deafening. The other eight around the table seemed shocked, the major was sure, even though they did their best to hide it.

Lance was himself barely keeping his composure. The bitter taste of defeat and despair he thought he had washed out less than a half-hour before were suddenly shoving its way back to the surface. The calm, stone-faced expression he was keeping suddenly became the last line of defense from a breakdown.

He took a sip of water and a deep breath before picking up again.

"While we made our way back to the base, General Pepper promptly had the rest of my crew run a backtrace using our state of the art TRACERT supercomputer," Lance continued, bragging just a little bit. "The results were in as soon as I got back. Assured of the utmost accuracy, my men told me the object came from System 77."

That time, eyes certainly widened in the circle of elites, probably for the same reasons that Lance's eyes had back in Pepper's office. _System 77? I thought it was underdeveloped! And suddenly they have all this technology?_ and so on.

"The general and I discussed it for a while. Originally, his plan was to order retaliation immediately; however, I theorized that if System 77 wanted to wage war, then why were there no battleships, cruisers, infantry, et cetera, taking advantage of the confusion?

"Without many other options, we chose to use the device created through Project Deep Space Alliance, better known as the ansible. If you'll recall, this device is capable of communicating with any point in the universe directly and immediately when given coordinates.

"Using the coordinates obtained from the backtrace, Pepper and I attempted to contact the inhabitants of Planet 77-3, the only inhabited planet in the system. Unfortunately, all we received was a choppy, broken signal with scraps of conversation permeating the static. We could not figure out why.

"Soon afterwards, General Pepper called this meeting, and it is currently 1406 Cornerian Standard Time," Lance said, finished with the report. He set it down on the elliptical table in front of him, and sat back in his chair, glad that it was over.

"Thank you, Lance, good job. And so, we reach the reason why I called this meeting," Pepper explained. "I need your input. Frankly, this situation baffles me. I'm asking these questions: What is the deal, technologically speaking, with System 77? Why would they launch only one missile-like object? And, finally, what do we plan to do about it?"

The eight delegates once again sat in silence as they tried to make sense of the information before them. Pepper's eyes bored into each and every one, practically begging for any input. He was willing to admit it was a lot of information to take in at once, but he was at least hoping for immediate reactions of disgust and anger. Instead, everybody looked rather confused; they were glancing side to side rapidly, turning their heads awkwardly, and staying quiet.

All except for one. And that one was Freimont.

"So, let me get this straight," he began disbelievingly. "This radiation bomb just crashes down onto Corneria, silently poisoning everyone in the city. And you send a completely unarmed scientific team, without _any_ guns or explosives, to check it out?"

"Yeah, what's your point?" Pepper spoke.

"Don't you think that's a _little_ careless, sir? Especially considering that you had no idea of the origin of this object?

Many of the other delegates started to murmur in agreement. Pepper started to fume underneath his stoic composure.

"Look, we can talk about probable mistakes later, Freimont," the general said, rubbing his temples.

"I'm just pointing this out. Lance, how many lives do you think would have been saved if you had been able to destroy it on the spot?"

The vulpine began to mutter to himself, working through the numbers in his head.

_Let's see, at an average of 950 rads per hour, that's a 30 minute dose of 425 rads…20 is 30 minus 10, so 425 minus about 160… 265 rads…so the mortality rate would lower to…let's see._

Lance wished he had the actual tables in front of him. While he knew the mortality rate from radiation poisoning dropped sharply when the dose was below 1000 rads, it was hard to come up with a figure off the top of his head. In the end, though, he had no other choice.

"The reduced dose would've lowered the mortality rate from 50% to…I'd say 20 or 25%. In terms of life, that would have saved around…415 million lives." He tried his best not to think about that many nameless, faceless Cornerians who would die thanks to that little decision to abandon the guns.

Sixteen eyes bored right back at Pepper, each holding a mix of disappointment and anger. The old hound had no idea what to tell them, other than that little fact was off-topic. He sighed in annoyance.

"Ok, I'll acknowledge that a mistake was made there, but we can talk about mistakes when this entire System 77 situation is resolved. Right now, I need you to help me answer the three questions I posed not even ten minutes ago: What is the deal, technologically speaking, with System 77? Why would they launch only one missile-like object? And, finally, what do we plan to do about it?" He repeated them word-for-word to make sure it was completely crystal clear.

Freimont seemed to back off, his point made clear. The rest appeared to be puzzling over these questions just as hard as Pepper and Lance had. And who could blame them?

This time, a canine from Katina was the one to open up a discussion.

"Twelve years ago, that system was classified as underdeveloped, correct?" His ears flopped a bit as he cocked his head sideways.

"Yes, sir," Lance confirmed, beating Pepper to the punch.

"And now, they are suddenly able to hit us with…uh…" he paused, trying to find the right words to describe the object. "Some kind of radiation…bomb, I guess?"

"Indeed, Grey," Pepper acknowledged. The general wondered for a moment why he didn't call it an R-bomb, before stupidly remembering that the only ones who knew about it where sitting physically in the room.

Grey furrowed his brow and rubbed a paw on his chin in thought. As soon as he raised it again to speak, though, a cold, chilling voice snuck in the first word.

"If you ask me, the radiation bomb is a diversion," it said flatly.

Everyone recoiled, but no one could figure out whether it was the voice's theory or its intensity that caused it.

"Jason, you can't be ser—" Grey tried to interject.

"Do not address me by my first name again, Grey," the lupine delegate from Fichina growled. Not very good in social situations, and still sour about being assigned to lead the only base on the tundra planet, Brigadier General Jason Schodek was not to be messed with.

"Why would you believe that, _Schodek_?" the canine replied, venom in his voice.

"Well, first of all, this object has distracted the ten highest ranking officers in the Cornerian United Defense Force," he started, giving a condescending look to Pepper.

The general rolled his eyes, but begrudgingly continued to listen. Schodek was on to something.

"Second, it gives perfect explanation to the 'one bomb and nothing else' dilemma. They're just biding their time, waiting for this opportunity. And, finally, maybe you should end this meeting so we can find out."

"Oh, come on, Schodek, don't you think that's a little—"

"Hold it, Grey, he makes an interesting point."

Schodek's stoic face morphed into a smug grin.

"While I don't intend to end the meeting, I have no problem with scaling up the base's readiness."

With that, he pulled out the laptop kept in the emergency communications room and logged himself on. With the stroke of a key, he could give orders, communicate with anyone in the system at will, and even remotely arm weapons, all from one location. It was so convenient, and so easy, that all he had to do to increase the base's readiness was to type in the following phrase: _Increase readiness to ALERT2._

"Ok, that should do it," he announced. Everybody upstairs would probably be rushing to their post, looking for a threat that may or may not come. Pepper knew it would probably piss off a few soldiers, but Schodek had incredible intuition when it came to such things.

"With all due respect, you two, can I finish my statement?!" Grey very nearly shouted. Being outspoken by his colleagues was something that the canine was getting sick of.

Every eye turned on him, and each face had an eyebrow raised. They seemed to take a dull interest in what he had to say.

"Has anyone…ANYONE…considered that this may just be some kind of accident?"

"Yes," Pepper and Lance said simultaneously, remembering their conversation from earlier.

"We already decided against it. The placement and orientation of the object was just too coincidental, too perfect," Lance explained, practically reading Pepper's mind as he did so.

"Well, that's just it," Grey continued, crossing his arms. "Maybe this IS all one big coincidence. Not a very pleasant one, sure, I'll admit that, but just one big deadly coincidence."

"If it was a coincidence, Grey, than why hasn't System 77 told us so?" the other Katina delegate pointed out.

At this, Grey couldn't remember the answer. It had been right on the tip of his tongue, but Schodek had jumped in and derailed his train of thought with his rather rude interruption. His arms fell down to his sides as he accepted defeat from his own brain.

As soon as Pepper and everybody else was ready to move the discussion forward, the ursine from the Aquas base brought Grey's idea back to life.

"If you ask me, Grey makes a decent point," she said, ears perking up. "While Schodek may be right, it seems the accident explanation is equally likely.

"Once again, ma'am, if it was an accident, why haven't they told us so?" Schodek said, his condescending attitude prevalent in every single word.

"You said the ansible communication didn't work, right?"

"This is true, yes," Lance confirmed, nodding his head.

"At the risk of wording this terribly, how badly did it not work?" she asked awkwardly, head cocked sideways.

"…I…I don't follow," the white vulpine replied.

"Umm…shoot…" the ursine tripped over her tongue, trying to convey her question in a way that didn't leave everybody scratching their head in confusion. "Like, did you actually get a definitive signal, or…?"

"Oh…oh! I see what you mean now," he exclaimed quietly. "Yes, we did link to an actual signal, but the quality was terrible."

"Could you elaborate on that a little more, Lance?"

"Well, ok, um…" he laughed nervously. Something about talking to that particular bear seemed to short-circuit his thinking cap. "For video, we only got purple static, and…uh…the audio was very choppy."

"I see," she acknowledged. "Now…I'm no communications expert, but…it seems as if you were trying to access a signal that shouldn't have been tampered with."

The ursine mentally slapped herself. That was far from what she was trying to say.

"So, you're saying that the ansible accidently hacked into a private signal? I fail to see how that's relevant," Pepper responded.

"No!...well, maybe, but what I'm trying to say is that maybe the ansible communication didn't work because System 77 _doesn't have_ an ansible."

Nobody replied, but everyone looked on curiously as if to ask, _Go on…_

"You have to remember it has only been twelve years since we found them and classified them as underdeveloped. I don't think that'd be enough time to advance…you know…to our level. Basically, we couldn't talk to them because they don't have an ansible; in the same way…er…I mean likewise, they can't tell us this whole thing is an accident they're still underdeveloped."

"My point exactly," Grey agreed.

The other eight, except for Schodek, were at least somewhat impressed with the explanation. Even more so because it came from the usually bumbling mouth of the Aquas base leader.

Lance was more than ready to believe the ursine. Not only because he had a crush on her, no, but also because that's what he has been secretly wanting the whole time. As mentioned before, he had a very strong desire to contact System 77. In fact, the vulpine was already planning out a way to reveal the Lylat System to the System 77 inhabitants under the guise of deep space exploration. If he succeeded, he wouldn't just be another chief scientific officer; he'd pioneer the first interspecies alliance in Lylatian history.

_Goddamn, that would be amazing. Hell, I'd be the most famous person ever! Even more so than Fox McCloud and his—_

"You all can't seriously be believing this bumbling bear's naïve theory!" Schodek yelled, snapping Lance out of his fantasy in the process.

"Calm yourself, Schodek, her opinion is just as important as anyone else's," Pepper warned. The lupine responded by crossing his arms and folding his ears back in anger.

"…Anyway, I might even go so far as to say the object wasn't even meant to hit Corneria," Grey hypothesized, putting the conversation back on the right track. "Heck, they could have been trying to, as she put it"—he nodded to the ursine—"get to our level, but we were just in the way."

"While the accident theory does seem to be far-fetched, you two are making some good arguments," the general conceded, getting less and less paranoid of war with each passing minute.

"General, with all due respect, please tell me you're not serious!" Schodek pleaded, furious. "This accident talk is absurd! It's nothing more than an idealist fantasy created by officers who can't understand the realities of war—"

"That's quite enough, Schodek!" Pepper, Lance, and Grey all found themselves scolding at the same time. Suddenly, the air turned cold and tense as the three of them teamed up to stare the lupine down.

"Have you forgotten that the Lylat Wars ended barely six months ago?" the general spoke as his calm yet powerful voice morphed into one of guttural fury. "Have you forgotten how close we came to losing it all? Have you forgotten that if it wasn't for Star Fox, none of us would be standing here right now? So don't you dare talk down on us for 'not knowing the reality of war,' Schodek, because I assure you, it is all too clear."

For a time, the only thing that was heard was the sound of Pepper's heavy breathing. Everyone else was stunned into silence at the powerful outburst, especially Schodek. He had never seen the general this agitated, this enraged, this furious. It never came across him to guess that the war was still a sore spot.

Lance took a cautionary step back, paws out and tail raised. He had never expected to see Pepper like this either.

"So…that leaves only one question unanswered, right? What do we plan to do?" Freimont asked, remembering how the general had almost rubbed the three questions into his face earlier.

Nobody answered immediately; they were still in shock from Pepper's emotionally fueled comeback. The officers were finding it incredibly hard to know if the general was ready to take suggestions again or not.

There was one brave soul among them, though.

"If you ask me, I think we should just do nothing," Grey suggested. "We'll let events play themselves out, and act accordingly."

Everybody except Schodek seemed to murmur in agreement. The lupine was still recoiling from recent events.

"Grey's right," the second Zoness delegate agreed. "We just don't know enough make a logical decision. Of course, increasing readiness across the board would probably be smart as well."

It was here that Lance sensed his chance. If he worded his proposal correctly, he could have a ship headed to System 77 by morning. Plus all of the fame that would come with it.

"Hold on, I have another idea," he revealed, an almost evil grin on his muzzle. "We don't know why they launched this radiation bomb at us, so why don't we ask them?"

"Lance, are you…" Schodek started to insult the vulpine, but he caught himself knowing that Pepper was sick of his chastising attitude. "…Don't you remember that the ansible communication failed?"

"Of course I do. I wasn't talking about the ansible," he alluded, his grin widening.

"Well, then, what are you talking about? It's not like we can just go to System 77 and ask them ourselves."

"Why not? We have the technology. Provided we could secure the extra fuel required, it shouldn't be terribly hard to actually travel there and figure out what's going on."

"And what if they react with violence? Look at us. We nearly attacked over an unmanned object," Freimont recalled.

"There's the critical difference. Our ship wouldn't be unmanned. There would be many of us, including anthropologists, diplomacy experts, the whole package. We go there, clear up this radiation bomb business, maybe share some of our technology, and look at that. We've made friends with other beings in the universe," Lance described, his smile never departing.

"I could get on board with that," Grey mentioned. "If everybody else is cool with it, I wouldn't mind meeting some otherworldly beings."

That attitude seemed to prevail. Nobody really wanted to make a concrete decision on Lance's idea, but they would agree if everybody else did.

Except for Schodek, of course. He was staunchly keeping to his act of war theory. He easily saw that he was in the minority, though, and that nobody was really happy with him, so he relegated to not speak up.

"That's actually an interesting idea, Lance," Pepper conceded as he worked out the pros and cons in his head. "I doubt many races could admit to having allies thousands of light-years away…"

Lance looked at the general with hopeful eyes. All he needed now was his good word, and he could realize his dream in no time flat.

"Sorry, though. I think I'll have to pass on that suggestion," Pepper said, noticing the vulpine's look. He did his best to let him down easy. "Look, Lance, I just don't think we're ready. Not only are we short on funds from the Lylat Wars, but once the death toll rises and people realize what's going on, they'll be screaming bloody murder, not make friends."

Lance's heart still dropped like a rock. Those were not the words he expected to hear; they were the polar opposite of that. He sank back down into his chair, and he just stared at his feet.

"That's also why I think we should go with Grey's original idea. Let's see how events play out. We just don't know enough to do anything definitive at the moment. Increase base readiness if you like, I'm not making it a requirement. If push comes to shove, be ready to meet again," Pepper ordered, finally back to his calm, official tone.

Alarm bells started to go off inside Lance's brain. These bells were signifying a logical absurdity. A logical absurdity that could really help the vulpine's case…if he could find it, that is.

Luckily for Lance, spotting logical absurdities was second nature to him.

"General, one moment," he called, getting the old hound's attention. "If the people are screaming bloody murder…how is doing nothing better than going to System 77 and getting a logical explanation? If this is war, then let it be war, but it seems that if this is a misunderstanding, then maybe, just maybe, the sense will douse their bloodlust."

"You said the reason yourself, Lance. Half the city is slated to die. That's almost a billion lives. Frankly, I don't think there's anything that can be said to quell their bloodlust," Pepper explained.

Schodek nodded contentedly at that last part.

"There's so much we could learn, though. Why would you pass up an opportunity to study an extraterrestrial race?"

"I never said I was passing it up completely, Lance. I just think we should wait a while before getting involved in something of that scope."

"Oh, I see. Opportunity knocks, and you just slam the door in its—"

All of Pepper's senses were assaulted at once. His eyes saw an incredibly white flash, which faded back to black almost immediately. He heard the extremely loud sound of crumpling metal, splintering steel beams, and the jarring impact of metal on solid concrete before his ears went deaf from the astounding volume. He felt gravity glitch out as something threw him against the wall at his right side, and he felt tendrils of incomprehensible pain stretching out from his spine and tail. He could smell superheated gas and flaming wood from everywhere. He could taste blood, mucus, soil, and a million other things that shouldn't be in anyone's mouth. It was total sensory overload.

His brain, having no idea what to do with all the information it was being sent, tried to shut itself down into the depths of unconsciousness. It took all of Pepper's self-control to keep it awake and as alert as possible.

He coughed up some blood, but he was able to shove it back down into his stomach by some unknown miracle. The silence in his deafened ears was suddenly replaced with a loud, incredibly obnoxious ring. Pepper attempted to open his eyes, almost afraid of what he might find on the other side of his eyelids.

There wasn't much to see. The intense black behind his eyelids morphed into a slightly less intense black. All the dust floating around made it seem like he was watching an outdated movie. Almost nothing was discernible, except for a blacker, rectangular object a few meters ahead. Its orientation made it look like it was defying gravity.

Pepper started moving his limbs around. Amazingly, nothing seemed to be broken, and the sharp pains in his back began to fade towards a dull ache. Through this extending and retracting of extremities, the general discovered that the object was not defying gravity; rather, he was lying on his side.

His joints groaned unpleasantly as he forced himself to a sitting position. He tried to take stock of the situation again, now that his head was oriented correctly.

Suddenly, somewhere, an emergency light flicked on, bathing half the room in an eerie white fluorescent glow. Pieces of concrete, splintered wood, and steel bended beyond all recognition littered the room. A few wires hung from the ceiling, sparking intermittently like an electric snake. The dust began to settle as well, and the mysteries it was hiding began to be revealed.

Pepper swept the dirt and small bits of debris off of his person, stirring up the surrounding grains of dust into little eddies as he did so. The annoying ringing was fading fast, and the general swore he heard the sounds of the outdoors coming from somewhere.

It was at this point where he realized there were several large bloodstains on the front of his uniform. He reasoned it wasn't his; if he had a wound big enough to expel that much blood, he would have been dead already. That begged a question, though. Whose blood was it?

Pepper didn't have to look far. Once the little dust eddies dissipated, the answer was all too clear.

There, right where Lance was standing just moments before…was the missile.

It had landed right on top of him.

Pepper could see the vulpine's white-furred right arm stretching out from underneath the thing, paw pad up. His feet were just barely visible within the missile's shadow.

He suddenly lost the ability to breathe. For a while, he could only stare at the lifeless limbs. A claw stuck out from the pointer finger; it pointed to the sky as if he was signaling what killed him.

"…Lance…goddamn…" he uttered softly.

Not knowing what else to do, he let the shock and disbelief drive his actions. It drove him to crawl cautiously over to the former chief scientific officer's body. For whatever reason, it wanted Pepper to retrieve Lance's body from underneath what he finally recognized as a System 77 missile.

Therefore, he took a firm grasp of the arm's bicep. Assuming correctly that the missile was heavy, he knew it would take a lot of work to get his entire body out from underneath it. Fighting back a single tear, he prepared his muscles for a fight. The general started rocking back and forth, trying to get a little helping momentum.

He started counting down in his head.

_Three…two…one…heave!_

Instead of wrenching a corpse out from underneath the object, Pepper found himself rapidly whipping past the vertical. He extended his paws out to catch himself, but he was moving way too quickly to do it in time, and he wound up just face-planting onto a pile of broken concrete bits.

The pain in the general's muzzle, as well as his confusion, paralyzed him for a moment or two. He slowly raised himself on all fours, blowing a piece of bloody concrete out of his nose as he did so. The red liquid started to leak out of the reopened nostril.

He stared at the ground for a short period of time, vaguely pondering what just happened. When he looked up, he got his depressing answer.

Lance's arm had been severed at the shoulder.

When Pepper had tried to catch himself, he hadn't realized that he had let go of the arm, and now it was sprawled on top of a pile of dust against the wall ahead of him. As if on cue, the bloody severed end spat out a bit of blood once the general noticed it.

A new wave of shock and disgust ripped through Pepper's body. It was enough to force him to vomit into his mouth again. As the foul, acidy liquid was shoved back down into the stomach of the general, he found himself gasping for air once more. He started frantically looking around the room, searching for something, anything…any_one._ Anyone who could whisk him away from the gruesome scene and tell him that nothing was wrong. Anyone who could write all the troubles away with the stroke of a pen.

Anyone who could be a savior.

Pepper's eyes finally fixated themselves on the entryway. The door had been blown off the hinges somehow. He half-expected Lance to walk in and laugh at the look on the general's face. Then, all the make-up and prop artists would follow, take a bow, and lastly the curtain would fall and everything would be ok.

Reality, however, quickly started to reassert its dominance over fantasy. The feelings of helplessness and disbelief started to eject from Pepper's body as the full explanation of what just happened made itself clear. Before he knew it, these feelings were rapidly being replaced with fury and vengeance. It was as if every cell in the general's body suddenly decided to secret pure hate.

Through this hate, he found new energy; an amount he never thought he was capable of having again. He practically sprang to an upright stance, prepared for whatever might come. Pepper stared down the darkened corridor, ready to challenge anyone who might make the mistake of exploring the demolished room.

When nobody came, he grew impatient and agitated with anything and everything. He no longer needed nor wanted a savior; instead he wanted someone to yell at, and something to take revenge on.

With revenge in mind, Pepper came up with a new plan of action. One as violent and as obvious as it was simple and clear.

"Can anybody hear me?" he shouted down the hallway, anger wrapping its vicious tendrils around his voice.

He didn't get a response from the hallway; on the other hand, it came from behind him. The unexpected direction of the sound caused him to twist around to a fighting pose.

"Pepper, holy shit, is that you? You're alive?" Schodek's cold, deep, yet trembling voice spoke. The general eased up as he realized that somehow, the lupine's audio transmission was still working.

"Yeah…I'm alive," he breathed. "But Lance isn't."

"Lance is dead? What the hell happened over there?" he asked, still surprised.

"I'll tell you what the hell just happened, Schodek. System 77 just took one casualty too many," Pepper growled with a tone even he didn't know he was capable of producing. Nonetheless, he let the words strike plenty of fear into the lupine's heart.

Schodek didn't even need to see the general to know how enraged he was. The lupine was one of the few that knew that Lance's and Pepper's relationship went much deeper than fellow chief officers. They were also incredibly close friends. Fox McCloud might take a bullet for the general, but Buddy Lance would step in front of a speeding Arwing if he thought there was any chance to protect him.

_Or, _he soon realized, _an interstellar missile barreling through fifteen stories' worth of terra firma and underground military structure._

"…If you were alive…then…why didn't you answer when I called out earlier…?" he asked, stuttering.

"The reason isn't important. I need you to do something for me, Schodek. Contact the other seven base leaders that were present and tell them I'm declaring war. Tell them to have as many interstellar ships as possible ready to depart for System 77 by no later than 2100 Cornerian Standard Time."

"What about Star Fox, sir? Didn't you say they were supposed to be present?"

"...Don't worry. I'll contact them myself."

* * *

_**Comrade + Jedelas:**__** Technically, I don't think one can be a higher rank when talking to a specific person. I was more or less showing off MacAllen's creativity. Made for a fun altercation, though.**_

_**Officer Hot-Pants: Even though the odds are astronomical, I think the universe is big enough for it to have to happen somewhere at some point. o.O  
**_

_**Wolfsalvo: Glad I've made a satisfied customer out of you. :3  
**_

_**Twilit Smash Nova: Frankly, I don't understand why human-Lylatian fics don't seem to interest most people. What could be more fun than humans discovering that furries actually exist? I guess it's not my call, either, but...you know, it just seems a little ridiculous.**_

_**A/N: See you in two weeks...oh...hold on...maybe in a little more...I just realized what day it is two Thursdays from now...fuck.**_

_**Ok, there will be an update in two weeks, but not in exactly two weeks this time. See ya!**_


	8. Flowing Through Their Veins

_**A/N: Happy Friday, all! I'll tell you why I didn't release yesterday, but first, poll results! 5 votes for sticking with Shots, one for each of the other two.**_

_**Alright, you've made it clear. To be fair, though, I probably shouldn't have asked that question right as shit was going down. There's probably bias there, but whatever.**_

_**I didn't release yesterday because it was Valentine's Day, and I thought that FF was going to be packed with Fox/Krystal or Fox/Wolf happy ending oneshots for the holiday. As it turns out, though, I just seriously overestimated the fandom. :I **_

_**Anyway, enjoy the chapter!**_

* * *

Edwards AFB Detachment 3, Nevada

It was pretty safe to say that _Major _Mason Dimon had just had the absolute worse day of his life.

_He HAD to fucking skip all the way down to major. Couldn't fucking stop at lieutenant colonel. God fucking damn it._

Dimon had just finished his second video chat with the Director. And you only needed to take one look at his contorted face to tell just how well it went for him.

The Director had taken a terse, angry attitude with Dimon as soon as he told the story of how the second test had failed. Even though Dimon explained time and time again that it had failed for reasons beyond his control, the Director still blamed everything on the hapless officer. As such, Dimon was demoted down several rungs on the military ladder.

He sat in his office, wallowing in his own rage. He suddenly wished for some curtains over the windows, since looking out of them only reminded Dimon of the past four hour's events. Even though the launch room was entirely empty now, he could still see the ghosts of the scientists walking around, sitting at computers, staring hopefully at the Bravo graph that would never leave zero…it was almost too much to bear.

_Damn it, Dimon, think about something less depressing, will ya?_

But he couldn't do it. His mind ran around in circles as it chased the depressing memories, acting like a moth chasing an open flame.

For a moment, he considered following his own orders by just going home and distracting himself. It didn't take long for him to realize, though, that being home wouldn't be much different than being at the base; in both cases he would be alone and furious. All staying at the base did for him was prevent seven hours of tedious driving.

Although it would probably amount to nothing, Dimon tried to think of something, _anything_, that was a positive.

Unsurprisingly, his mind drew a blank. Instead, he conceded to comparing his life before the launch with his life afterwards. Dimon knew it wouldn't be much consolation, but it was all he had.

_Let's see…before and after, I had a house; before and after, I had a job; before and after, I was alone; before and after, I enjoyed being alone…well, look at that, nothing much HAS changed._

…_Except…what the fuck do I look forward to now?_

He was entirely right. He had been waiting and waiting for this magical August 7th for years, and now that it had shown its worth to be less than nothing…it left a sort of emptiness inside of him. Behind all the hate for the Director, and all the chagrin for the recent failures, there was just a vacuum. A vacuum, devoid of all anticipation. Dimon searched for an adjective to describe it, and he came up with one word.

Surreal.

It almost reminded him of whole Mayan 2012 apocalypse business six years back. Even though he knew it was a load of bullshit, he still couldn't help wondering if something would actually happen. And even though December 21st, 2012 had been just a normal day, it was still weird to actually be living in the days afterwards.

The difference was, unlike 2012, there actually weren't any plans to look forward to this time.

Dimon sighed, defeated.

_Maybe aliens will invade, or birds will fly out of my pants, or something equally amazing and unlikely will come to pass, _he thought with a sarcastic laugh. Underneath, though, he truly did hope for something like that to happen.

At least it would break the silence.

/\\\\\\\\\\

McCloud CAB

When General Pepper finally made it back up to his office and was able to glance at the clock, the time was almost unbelievable

1510 Cornerian Standard Time.

The last time he had checked a clock was right before the missile struck the emergency communications room, and it had read 1445.

It was on the edge of comprehension to believe that so much had happened in twenty-five minutes.

To start, Lance had been murdered. There was absolutely no way around it. The missile from System 77 had landed right on top of the poor arctic fox, crushing him to death with its weight and velocity. Pepper, not willing to believe it at first, had tried to retrieve him from underneath the thing. Instead, he only succeeded in tossing Lance's severed arm across the room.

Some time later, after the general had informed Schodek of his plan of action, a squad of soldiers, mostly canines, burst through the pile of debris blocking the exit. The sight of Pepper, alive and mostly well, relieved them, but when the squad wrenched Lance's bloody, unrecognizable corpse out from under the missile, it disgusted each and every one in the room. Still, they wrapped the vulpine up and assured Pepper he would receive a proper burial with full honors.

Next came the challenge of getting back up to ground level. The elevator shaft had obviously been destroyed, leaving the stairs as the only way back up. Unfortunately, they weren't exactly spared, either. Entire flights had been rocked loose from the stairwell, leaving large, jagged gaps as obstacles.

Their solution took a page straight out of the Fichinian mountain climber's handbook. Wherever there was a gap, the soldiers had, on their way down, laid steel ladders across each space. These ladders were then secured by rope to the walls of the stairwell so they would not shift when people stepped on them.

However, the soldiers still crossed these in single file, one by one. Pepper had been told this was for safety reasons.

The general's lungs had rejoiced when he had finally stepped into fresh air and out of the dank, dusty passageways of what used to be the emergency communications room. The absolute first thing he had done was to examine Corneria City's skyline reverently. It looked serene and calm, the buildings blissfully unaware of the radiation poisoning that was surely afflicting the residents that lived inside by now.

Except for one. One of the buildings, the hallmark of the city, had tendrils of inky black smoke rising out of it. Even at that distance, Pepper had still been able to pick out a gaping hole straight through it, and the flames that nipped at the edges.

It certainly shocked him, to say the least. Independence Tower, or as it was known more commonly, the central clock tower, had been the pride of Corneria City. When it had been constructed, it was an engineering feat as well as a technological one. Not only was it the tallest structure in Lylat, standing at 2,018 meters, but it was also the first object to use holographic technology as a display; in this case, the current time.

But now it was just a building with a hole straight through it.

Pepper had pulled the squad's leader aside and had tried to get the answer why.

"Why in Lylat is Independence Tower burning?" he had asked through gritted teeth.

"Joseph will brief you on it at the infirmary, sir," the leader had responded, pointing the way with the barrel of his LBR-85.

Captain Dennis Joseph had been Lance's second in command, at least before 1445. Now, he was officially the chief scientific officer, although he didn't know it yet. He was only ready to give the briefing because Lance had asked him to take over his duties while he was at Pepper's meeting.

The general somewhat dreaded having to tell Joseph that his superior was dead. Lance had been one you could easily look up to no matter your position, and Joseph was no exception. In war, though, there was no time for grief.

"Why are we going to the infirmary? I feel fine."

"Precaution, sir."

The infirmary was placed just to the west of the main officer's complex, and south of the building that used to house the emergency communications room. It was four stories in height, had plenty of floor space, and could treat anything from minor burns to three blaster wounds through the chest.

Normally, Pepper wouldn't have minded getting checked out after an event like a missile crash, but he had wanted to get his troops mobilized as soon as possible. The only high point had been Joseph's briefing.

They had already been a room reserved for Pepper, so he had been taken right there. A single doctor, a vulpine dressed in white, and Joseph, a feline resembling a jaguar, had been waiting inside.

"That blood's not mine," Pepper had said when the doctor recoiled at the sight of his uniform. "What do you have for me, Joseph?"

"It's about the second missile's path, sir," he explained. "Before it came to rest so violently in the emergency communications room."

"Very well," Pepper replied as the doctor started probing around his bleeding nose. "A chunk of concrete got wedged in there, nothing more."

"In terms of trajectory, the missile flew in at about a 45 degree angle," Joseph continued. "It first smashed through the top fifty floors of Independence Tower, killing roughly 350 citizens in the process. Next, it entered the ground near the midpoint of Flyer's Park, causing many injuries but thankfully no deaths. It continued burrowing through the ground until it reached the emergency communications room and it came to rest.

"Further calculations of the damage caused and the missile's momentum shows some interesting trends. When it smashed through the tower, it was going at a very respectable fraction of the speed of light. If it weren't for the object's small size, the entire top half of the building would have been disintegrated. Interestingly, though, considering the force of gravity and its initial momentum, the velocity of the missile actually went_ down _before it reached Flyer's Park. In fact, it seemed to have been decelerating under its own power throughout its journey."

After some thought, Pepper had realized a missile's main job was generally to cause damage, and therefore, it would want to speed up; to increase its momentum. But this missile had done the exact opposite by slowing itself down. It almost seemed to fit into Lance's theory of an accident—

As soon as his brain had mentioned the name Lance, his rage had once again entered the picture, very much renewed in strength. Joseph's face, at the time completely ignorant and unknowing of his superior's fate, only reinforced it.

"Well, aside from some bruises on your back and the scratches in your nose, you look fine. You're a very lucky man to have survived such an impact while standing so close, sir," the doctor said, releasing Pepper from his obligation to stay in the infirmary.

"Thank you. And Joseph, before I go…" he started, prepping himself to drop the emotional bomb. "…Lance…he…he didn't survive. You are now Major Dennis Joseph, chief scientific officer. I just wish it could have been under happier circumstances."

Pepper had left right after finishing his sentence. He hadn't wanted to see the look on the feline's face.

Now, as aforementioned, he was back in his office, setting up a communications link with the Great Fox. He hoped to God Fox would be there this time.

/\\\\\\\\\\\

Great Fox, Cornerian Orbit

Meanwhile, in space, Fox was still watching TV in the lounge, but his condition had changed for the worse. He had no desire to move, except to take sips from a bottle of ginger ale that Peppy had brought him. The vulpine had no choice but to stay curled up on the couch and hope that all these stomach problems would pass.

_If they are going to pass, they'd better do it soon…_

Fox hoped it wouldn't come to puking to make him feel better, but Peppy had also brought a plastic bowl, just in case. It sat on the floor by his head.

He was also alone. Falco had left under the excuse that he wanted to do something in the training room, but Fox knew it was just the avian's germ-ophobic tendencies acting up again.

The vulpine glanced at the clock on the wall behind him.

_1515…wasn't Pepper supposed to..._ he started to think, before another wave of pain wracked his chest. _Nevermind, being alone is better anyway…_

Fox pulled his knees a little closer to his midsection. He suddenly wished he had a blanket. He was starting to feel a little chilled.

"Fox," ROB's robotic voice suddenly announced over the intercom. "General Pepper is calling; he says it is very important."

_Well, there goes being alone._

For a moment, he considered simply ignoring Pepper and instead falling into a deep, healing sleep. And during that moment, the headache previously hiding behind his bad stomachache pounded right back into reality. Doing nothing rapidly became a very attractive option.

Strangely, though, the general's love of punctuality came back into Fox's brain. Falco had told him to expect a call at 1500, but Pepper had waited until 1515. It could very well have been a benign reason, but his never-ceasing intuition told him there was something wrong.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," he yelled back, trusting ROB's security equipment to hear him.

Fox summoned all his strength to raise himself into a sitting position. Immediately, his headache flared up, showing its distaste for movement. He slapped a paw against his forehead in a feeble attempt to stave off the pain.

_Must power on...must power on...don't give up, Fox, you're stronger than this... _the vulpine told himself. If he could beat Andross, he surely should be able to take on a little stomachache.

All his muscles believed otherwise.

Still, Fox forced those muscles to move him into a standing position, grab the half-empty bottle of ginger ale, and walk down the hallway towards the main elevator.

The Great Fox has six floors in all, plus a hanger and launching bay underneath. The top floor holds the entrance to the bridge; not only does it contain the ship's controls, but it also has almost all of the communication equipment as well as the security hub. Every other floor has hallways arranged like a very wide rectangle; each hallway usually contains storage rooms, equipment, or, in the case of the fifth floor, the team member's bedrooms. On the small length of this rectangle is usually an expansive room such as the aforementioned lounge, a kitchen and dining area, a training room, et cetera, depending on the floor. An elevator and two sets of stairs connect it all.

The main elevator cuts right through the center of this rectangle of hallways; not a terrible walk by any measure, but it was difficult enough for Fox, given his condition. As soon as he stepped into it, he nearly collapsed into the corner of the tiny space. Luckily, he had the presence of mind to press the "six" button before doing so.

_Alright...alright..._ Fox thought, breathing heavily. _Only have to walk once more, and I can sit down for good._

Much earlier than the vulpine had hoped, the elevator dinged happily upon reaching its destination. He propped himself back into a standing position using the elevator's walls, and then he stumbled into the more open hallway of the bridge level.

On this floor, the hallway led only to the bridge on the right, and nothing else. Fox could already make out the faint blue glow of the holographic communication system reflecting off the bridge's entryway.

As he started walking, though, the hallway seemed to elongate itself. With every step he took, the doorway seemed to shrink instead of grow. The vulpine might as well have been sprinting backwards.

Forgetting his sickness, his fatigue, and his miserable attitude, he began to run forwards, to no avail. The bridge turned into an unreachable goal, taunting him, mocking him as it receded into the ever-expanding distance-

"Ah, Fox, there you are," Pepper's slightly shaken yet still even voice spoke. Fox's eyes widened as he realized he wasn't sprinting down an endless hallway; rather, he was just standing like an idiot in the middle of the cavernous space that was the Great Fox's bridge.

_What in the name of Andross' back hair just happened?_

The vulpine looked around. Everything seemed to be as it should be. In front of him, ROB was busy at the controls; beyond that was the void of space as visible through the cockpit windows. To his left was the communications center, nothing more than a ring of couches around the holographic display. At this moment, General Pepper's upper body floated there. To his right was a large digital map of the Lylat System, with the Great Fox's current position and coordinates displayed in an easily discerned white font. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary; nothing seemed to be breaking the rules of space-time.

Fox shook his head and rolled his eyes. Apparently, one little sickness was enough to make him lose his mind.

"Are you all right, Fox? You don't look very well," Pepper asked, clearly concerned about the vulpine's behavior.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sir," he lied, taking a deep breath. Something was certainly wrong, but Fox had no plans to admit it yet. He walked over to one of the curved couches and took a seat.

"Are you sure? You look a little green around the muzzle," the general asked euphemistically. Anyone with eyes could tell that Fox was much too slumped and lethargic to be feeling all right.

"It's...It's nothing, sir. I think I just had too big of a lunch." As his body's previous panic over elongated rooms began to die down, his stomachache and headache returned in full force. He took another sip of ginger ale.

"If you say so, Fox," he said condescendingly. "Anyway, where were you earlier? I needed you for something very important, but Falco told me you had left."

"Oh, I...uh...tried to take a day off, sir," Fox answered, barely focused.

"I see."

Pepper knew Fox was suffering from something much more drastic than an overstuffed belly, but the vulpine was being too stubborn to admit it. He knew he should probably just leave Fox alone to recover, but Star Fox would be an incredibly valuable asset in the war to come. If the one person of the team Pepper told was way too sick to care, though, he might as well just hang up and forget about hiring Star Fox ever again.

What he needed was a fail-safe. A way to ensure the team's help, ill Fox or well Fox. Thankfully, Star Fox was just that: a team.

"ROB, on second thought, could you send the rest of the team up? I'd like to talk to everyone."

"Affirmative," his robotic voice acknowledged. "All members of Star Fox, please report to the bridge. General Pepper has an important message.

Fox's tired brain vaguely wondered why the general didn't just do that in the first place, but then it simply decided to enjoy the few extra moments of silence. Once Pepper started delivering whatever important message he had, the silence would disappear all too quickly.

The vulpine took advantage of the empty room by lying down on the red couch. He sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples, trying to dissuade the dull, thumping headache pain that plagued him so. Sadly, it seemed as if it was going absolutely nowhere.

He heard several sets of footprints echoing down the hallway.

_Shit…time to grin and bear it, I guess…_

"Yo, Fox, wake up, the party's here," Falco said, poking the vulpine obnoxiously. He opened his eyes to find Falco's beak practically touching his nose.

"Get out of my face, Falco, I'm working on it," he shot back, pushing the yellow, protruding facial feature away. Fox used this momentum to get himself into a sitting position. He looked around to find the rest of his team and the general staring at him. Slippy, Peppy, and Pepper appeared concerned, while Falco was simply scoffing.

_Let me know when you're done faking, and I'll talk to you, _the avian's face appeared to say.

Fox wanted to roll his eyes, but he chose not to waste the energy.

"I'm glad you all could make it," Pepper began, causing everyone's glances to shift. "Over the past three hours, a few…unsettling events have taken place. In order for you to fully understand why I'm calling, though, I feel as if I must start from the beginning.

"At 1305 Cornerian Standard Time," he started, reading this part right off of the late Lance's report. "a then unknown object entered the Cornerian atmosphere at an exceedingly high velocity. Before we could even try to make contact with the object, it crashed down sixteen miles west-south-west of Corneria City.

"I soon dispatched an unarmed scientific team to investigate the wreckage…" The general kept going, but Fox's brain was just unable to focus on the words. They faded out of the vulpine's comprehension like the colors of a denim jacket after being washed too many times.

Instead of just plain not caring, though, Fox's lack of interest was caused by his worsening sickness. His stomach was a jet flying through a bad storm, doing as much as it could to throw its occupants out into the sky.

His eyes glazed over. They stared at Pepper, but his attention was elsewhere. Specifically, his attention was on trying to prevent himself from puking. A wave of the acidy liquid managed to push itself into the vulpine's throat, but he forcefully swallowed it back down with a barely audible grunt.

Fox took a breath of relief, and was able to catch a few more scraps of Pepper's message.

"…destroyed it, but Lance had already told me that with the amount of radiation emitted, half the city would probably die even with the best medical treatment…"

At this, Fox noticed a clear look of disgust on the rest of the team's faces. They were angry enough about something, that much was clear. Once again, though, he couldn't bring himself to care. He just wanted it to be over.

Another wave began to rise out of his stomach.

This wave was much fiercer than the last. It pushed with much more intensity, and for a second, Fox thought it would escape all over the bridge's floor. By a clever upward turning of the head and a sudden burst of willpower, though, the vomit-infused disaster was averted. It left him breathing heavily and rapidly, however.

At this point, the vulpine finally dropped the stubborn act. Reasoning that the next wave would probably succeed in its mission, he finally decided to give up the façade of feeling well. Thankfully, Pepper seemed to have paused for a moment.

"…General?"

"Yes, Fox?" he asked hopefully.

"May I be excused to the bathroom?"

The general had indeed noticed Fox's display of forcing something back down into his body, so he reluctantly allowed it.

After thanking Pepper, the vulpine stood up slowly, like an old man getting out of bed. Step by step, he started making his way out of the bridge. He hoped his stomach would stay calm, at least until he made it into the elevator.

When the next wave rose, Fox knew he was screwed.

It came as quickly and as suddenly as a lightning bolt. It forced his throat open like it was tearing apart a phone book. It tasted worse than Andross' breath. Fox tried to quicken his pace, but it was no use. For all his efforts of feigning wellness, he was rewarded with one of the most violent vomiting sessions he had ever experienced.

Pepper and the rest of Star Fox could only watch with extreme shock as the contents of Fox's stomach and small intestine destructively ejected themselves from his muzzle. Every little splat, every little chunk, all of it seemed to pass in slow motion.

It went the slowest for none other than Fox himself. It was ejecting so quickly he could barely breathe. Whenever he got a chance to open his eyes, all he could see was the ever-growing pile of semisolid, yellow-brown puke in the entryway. He could feel his entire body straining from the effort. Tears started to trickle down his face as every cell in his chest and abdomen screamed pain. It was hell on the Great Fox.

And just like that, it was over.

The vulpine was left heaving for breath. He flattened his arms against the wall next to him, trying to avoid falling into his own vomit face-first. From an outsider's perspective, it seemed like a simple action, but from Fox's point of view, it required every ounce of strength in his body.

He coughed up another little bit of spittle. The noise was choked with tears.

Falco was the first one to move. He took a cautious step towards the reeling vulpine.

"…F-Fox? …Buddy?" he asked softly, still disbelieving what his best pal had just been reduced to. "…Are…are you alright…?"

"…Yeah…yeah…" Fox coughed out painfully. "…I'll be…fine, just…I'm going to my room…to…y'know…sleep and…ugh…"

Never releasing his grip on the wall, he took one step. One slow, exhausting, agonizing step. Falco approached, attempting to help Fox feasibly reach his destination, but Fox's left paw feebly swatted him away.

He took a second step. Then a third.

Then everything gave out. Fox fell to the floor with a soft _thud._

That was enough to snap everybody out of their shocked torpor. Peppy, Slippy, and Falco all sprinted towards their fallen leader, carefully avoiding the still steaming pile of vomit in the entryway.

"Fox, say something!" Falco shouted, shaking the vulpine furiously in an attempt to rouse him. His body did not move.

"Look, guys, I think he's still conscious!" Slippy observed. Fox's green, currently bloodshot eyes were indeed open and moving around slowly. They stopped for a few moments on Falco, then Slippy, and then Peppy. They silently begged for something he knew wouldn't come.

Death.

"He is?" the avian responded with skepticism. There was no mistaking the eye movements, though. Fox was definitely awake.

Fox had never felt so fatigued ever in his life. Even if he really wanted to move, he couldn't summon the stamina to do it. There was nothing else he was able to do except lay there on the floor and watch silently as his teammates crowded around him. He wished he could say _something _to reassure everybody, but even his mouth refused to move. He was a prisoner within his own furry body.

The location of the bridge's communications link allowed General Pepper to see everything. The vomiting, the sullen steps, the collapse, the rush of the other three Star Fox members, everything was ingrained into his memory. He had a pretty good idea of what Fox was suffering from, but he had no way to confirm it, as far as he knew.

"What's wrong with Fox?" Pepper asked concernedly, hoping someone would be on the right track.

"We don't know. I'd say the flu, but I've never seen it take hold this quickly or this severely," Slippy theorized.

"If it helps, I think he's been getting steadily worse ever since he made it back here," Falco mentioned worriedly, and then added the time. "At 1420."

That bit of circumstantial evidence was certainly helpful to a hypothesis forming in Pepper's brain, but there was really only one way to tell for sure if it was true.

"I think I know what's wrong with him," he said stoically. "Does anyone have a radmeter?"

"Not on me, the nearest one's down in the hangar—" Slippy tried to say, but surprisingly, ROB interrupted him.

"I am equipped with one," the robot replied.

"ROB, please examine Fox with it," Pepper commanded.

"I was going to, but affirmative." He was rather snarky for a robot sometimes.

ROB wheeled through the vomit pile and past the confused looks on team Star Fox's faces until he reached the fallen vulpine. He ignored the worried and befuddled look on Fox's face as he reached into his chest cavity for the familiar trident-shaped instrument.

Once he found it, the robot started by pointing it right at Fox's face, mere centimeters from his eye. He waved it over the vulpine's upper body like he was a wizard casting a spell, carefully examining the tiny spikes appearing on the radmeter's readout.

The pattern was obvious. The diagnosis was clear.

"Fox is suffering from acute radiation poisoning."

* * *

_**Species Unknown:**__** "Ouch, and disgusting." Couldn't have put it so bluntly and so accurately myself. :D**_

_**Emile the Watcher (chapter 7 review):**__** Sorry about Lance, but some characters just have to be sacrificed for the greater good...of my stories, that is. :3**_

_**ZEUSTHEMIGHTY: **__**Nope, he's good and dead. Bye-bye, Lance.**_


	9. Strangers

_**A/N: I'm back on Thursday! If last chapter taught me anything, it was to not release on a Friday ever again.**_

_**Anyway, to take a page out of Syxx's book, I'm gonna start opening each chapter with song lyrics. However, I'm gonna offer one better. Every song I post will be put on a Spotify playlist just for you guys! Look out for a link on my profile page!**_

* * *

_Stray...  
Well, maybe it's time we move on...  
Fear our good soul  
Well, maybe it's time we move on...  
And time we stray...  
I've never been one  
I've never been one for illusions...  
But maybe it's time  
Maybe it's time we stray...  
_

** -Janus - Stray**

* * *

Great Fox, Cornerian Orbit

"Estimated dose, 325 to 375 rads; mortality rate if untreated, 47 percent; mortality rate if treated, 12 percent..." ROB continued to rattle off a string of numbers related to Fox's affliction, but nobody was listening.

"Acute radiation poisoning…of course," Slippy said. "I should have known." The frog reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black, rectangular object. He pushed the power button on it, and a holographic screen the size of an index card appeared over it with the DataPod logo.

As he waited for his DataPod to finish powering up, he looked around. Falco and Peppy were still crouching near Fox. They appeared to be giving him whatever comfort they could, and in fact, it looked like Falco was giving the vulpine a comforting scritch behind the ears.

He looked the other way. General Pepper, who had been agitated enough at the start of this whole caper, seemed even more so now. Slippy concluded that this was for good reason; somebody was going to have to pay for all the damage done.

"He must have been in the city when it happened..." Slippy heard the general mumble.

His DataPod played a happy tune, signaling that it had finished its power-up. The screen now displayed a grid of spherical icons; touching each individual one would bring up a different application. It also featured a dedicated LylatNet connection, which allowed the user to access anything on the web at any time, as long as they were within Lylat.

Slippy tapped the Journey icon; this was the LylatNet browser application. Immediately, a blank white page with the multi-colored Arrow logo and a text box appeared on the screen. This was the frog's homepage, and the best known search engine in the system.

He tapped the text box, and then an on-screen keyboard filled the bottom half of the screen. He typed "radiation poisoning" into the box, clicking Enter as he finished. Right away, tons of results filled the holographic screen. Slippy's job was now to find a credible page within the amalgam of LylatNet sites.

It was about at this time that Pepper finished mulling over Fox's disturbing development and noticed Slippy fiddling with the DataPod. Finding it slightly odd that he was doing so, the general inquired about it.

"Slippy, what are you doing?" he asked, with a tone a little angrier than he intended.

"I'm trying to find out more information about radiation poisoning. All I know is that it worsens as the dose gets higher, but I want to know exactly what to expect. So far, though, all I'm getting are news articles about Corneria City," he reported with a decided frown.

When Falco overheard this, he gained a sudden interest in Slippy's results. Whether it was genuine interest in radiation sickness, or just concern for his fallen buddy, it all depended on what the avian was willing to admit. Either way, he left Peppy with Fox and jogged over to where Slippy was standing. He looked (easily) over the frog's shoulder as he waded through the many news articles and junk pages that the LylatNet had to offer.

The silence weighed a million tons as Pepper, Slippy, Falco, and most likely Peppy waited for the much needed information on radiation sickness. Falco could feel the sweat pooling under his wing-pits, and Slippy was pretty sure he could smell it.

Fox coughed a couple more times, but thankfully these coughs contained no stomach fluids.

Finally, after an what seemed to be an eternity, Slippy found a MedPedia page on the subject. It listed everything by dosage: what symptoms to expect, the time before onset of said symptoms, mortality rates, methods of treatment, and so on. The last column stood out, though. It spoke of a latent period, and it was easy to spot just because of its strangeness.

He searched elsewhere in the article for more information on this latent period. It wasn't hard to find; it had a section all its own. Inside, MedPedia spoke of the strangest piece of radiation poisoning yet. Instead of delivering all of its sickness at once, it afflicted the poisoned for a day or two, backed off for a period of time, and then came back stronger than ever for several more days afterwards. As described on the website, it was "a roller coaster of a sickness."

If Falco and Slippy didn't notice their own expressions of shock, the general sure did.

"What have you found?" he asked sternly.

Slippy was startled by the sudden question, for he was unprepared to answer it. Nevertheless, he spent a few seconds scrolling back up to the dosage table, deciding to just read straight off of it.

"Well, at a dose of 350 rads, Fox will suffer through nausea, vomiting, fatigue, diarrhea, and headaches, which we've already seen," the androgynous frog explained. He glossed over the mortality rates and the treatment methods for the moment; the latent period seemed much more important.

"Radiation poisoning is strange, though. After a day or two of these symptoms, he'll feel better. Don't be confused, though, it's not over. After a latent period, he'll be struck back down with the same symptoms, as well as fur loss, purple skin splotches, and low white cell count for several more days. And at a dose of 350 rads, that latent period could last anywhere from seven days to 28."

"That range can't be narrowed any farther?" Pepper asked.

"I wish. Sadly, it differs from person to person, and it can't be predicted."

"Why was ROB talking mortality rates, then?" Falco suddenly brought up. "While those symptoms aren't pleasant, they certainly don't seem deadly."

"That's true, Falco," the general responded, surprisingly beating Slippy to the punch. "But remember that a lack of white blood cells means a higher chance of a serious infection, which can be deadly."

"...That's exactly right, General," Slippy said, stunned. He had never pegged Pepper as the medical type. "…If he catches even a cold at the end of his latent period, it could have serious consequences."

Falco looked away as this truth set in. He tried not to think about his closest friend dying from such a cruel deed done by the System 77 aliens. Doing so only welled up tears he wanted no one to see.

"Damn it!" the avian suddenly exclaimed, trying to scare his tear ducts shut. He only succeeded in making Slippy nearly jump out of his skin, though, and getting Peppy to look over at him with an understanding expression.

"Look, I'm just going to cut to the chase," General Pepper started up with new conviction. "Almost all of the Cornerian Defense Force will be departing to System 77 at 2100. And I want Star Fox to be going with them."

"But what about Fox? What good are we without our leader?" Slippy pointed out.

"And shouldn't we be taking him to a hospital or something?" Falco added.

"It is true that System 77 managed to take out our best pilot," he replied, his tone low and accusing.

In any other situation, Falco would've objected the "best pilot" clause, but doing it now would just be incredibly rude.

"But the three of you will still be more than enough."

Falco, Slippy, and Peppy exchanged worried glances, trying to make a silent decision. It wasn't hard. For Lylat's sake, for Corneria City's sake, and especially for Fox's sake, they all nodded at Pepper.

"We'll do it," the blue pheasant answered confidently.

"Excellent. I'll send you the coordinates soon."

"Still, what do we do with Fox? We can't just leave him lying on the floor over there," Peppy mentioned. "He's terribly frightened."

"Don't worry about Fox. When we all make it to System 77, get him on my flagship. I'll make sure he gets the best medical care possible. Until then, just keep him comfortable, and make sure he's drinking fluids."

"I hope he's still alive after six hours…" Falco muttered grimly.

"Coordinates received," ROB reported. "Warp now?"

"No, ROB. Warp at 2100 Cornerian Standard Time," Peppy clarified.

"Affirmative."

The Lylat System map to team Star Fox's right suddenly changed. It zoomed out to fit both the Lylat System and the coordinates in System 77. They were right outside the orbit of Planet 77-9, 4500 light-years away. A countdown clock also ticked downwards from 5 hours and 30 minutes.

"I expect to see you all at the first strategy meeting once we're well hidden in System 77. And I'm sorry for all this happening to Fox," Pepper said. He then cut the link, and the holographic floating head dissolved into nothingness.

They stood there in silence on the bridge of the Great Fox, absorbing everything that just happened. Just six months after defeating Andross, Star Fox was being called to action once more. This time, they were up against an enemy they had never even seen and that they knew nothing about.

To add insult to injury, the team was down to three for the foreseeable future.

Still, feelings began to run high for the three of them. The tiny itch of revenge started to form under their skin, ready to spread like cancer the very moment it could. It all depended on who wanted to control it…and who didn't.

"…Falco, perhaps you should take Fox to his room," Peppy finally spoke, his voice weighted down by stress and sadness.

The avian looked over at the old hare humbly. He almost wanted to object having to carry his buddy, but not only was he the closest to Fox, but he was probably the only one with the physical strength to do it as well.

"Alright," he agreed. He stepped back to the vulpine's limp form very slowly, as if trying to avoid waking him. He got a brief surge of relief when he noticed that Fox's chest was still rising and falling. As soon as Falco stepped into his field of vision, his emerald eyes started tracking the avian once more.

After carefully avoiding the pile of ripening vomit, he calmly and deliberately crouched down in front of Fox, attempting to keep the vulpine calm.

"C'mon, Fox…" Falco said, like a father might to his son. "Let's go to your room."

He lifted the vulpine up into his wings; left wing underneath his shoulder blades, right wing beneath his knees. At 140 pounds, Fox wasn't really that heavy; then again, Falco was the only one of the remaining three who worked out regularly.

Fox's tail and arms bounced limply against the avian with every step he made. Eventually, it became another piece of torture for him to suffer through, as he had never imagined Fox to be in such a crippled, helpless state. And with every step, the small bit of pressure against his torso and thighs just reminded him of that fact. That awful, terrible fact.

He made it to the elevator and pressed the "five" button.

Falco could feel the itch of revenge start to spread. It infected his feathers, his blood, his brain, and his bones, filling them with new strength and determination.

And he loved it.

He almost wanted to laugh evilly and hysterically as images of what he'd do to the System 77 inhabitants when he got his hands on them. He almost wanted to stop by Star Wolf's new Sargasso hideout and ask Leon for tips on torture and mutilation. Hell, he'd probably ask to rent the lizard's torture equipment using spare credits left over from the Lylat Wars.

It was far from the right time to laugh, though, although he probably let a mischievous smile cross his beak.

The elevator reopened on the fifth floor. Falco took a left down the hallway.

Even though asking Leon for his stuff was an absolutely absurd idea, the least he could do was adopt a scorched planet policy. System 77 had already shown blatant disregard for civilians with their radiation missile; what was stopping Star Fox from doing the same?

It certainly wouldn't be hard. The dual hyper lasers already did plenty of damage, and each Arwing could hold nine nova bombs. It would just be a matter of knowing where to shoot—

"…Falco…?" Fox's weak voice ripped Falco out of his power trip. Somehow, the vulpine had suddenly gained the energy to raise his head and open his mouth. The avian's blue eyes immediately redirected themselves towards Fox's face.

"Am…am I…gonna die…?" he asked feebly.

Falco was absolutely astounded by this question. Fox was definitely the last person he had ever expected to ask such a thing. It went against every single perception he ever had of his buddy.

It was only then that the avian truly understood the power of radiation poisoning.

He forced his eyes shut, trying to block the sudden tears beginning to well up.

"You're gonna be fine…" Falco replied, telling himself that more than anyone else. "You're gonna be fine…"

/\\\\\\\\\\

Katina-North CAB

Soldiers across the Cornerian United Defence Force took the news of war against aliens with a wide range of emotions. Those on Corneria were generally the ones out for blood: many would lose friends, family members, and loved ones in the ensuing radiation hell.

On the other planets, though, the reactions were closer to curiosity than anything else. There were a few who reacted with protest, both nonviolent and violent; however, they were quickly put back in line. Most simply didn't care and followed their orders blindly.

Rarely, one would encounter a soldier who was pissed about going to war. Not because it was unethical or unnecessary; no, that's far from the truth. They were pissed because it interrupted quote-unquote "important" plans of theirs.

And one would be hard-pressed to find someone more furious than Master Sergeant Caleb Canis.

Grey had shared Pepper's decision of war at 1800 Cornerian Standard Time, when everybody was in the mess hall eating. There was such a thing as Katinian Standard Time (KST), of course, since the days on Katina were eight hours longer than on Corneria. KST was only used by the residents in the few towns on the planet, though. On military bases, everybody used Cornerian Standard Time for consistency.

In either case, the soldiers at Katina-North were now packing up whatever personal items they had for the trip to System 77. It wouldn't be much; they were loading all the cruisers at maximum crew capacity, which meant four soldiers to a room, and any place that wasn't the bridge, the hanger, or the dining hall was to be sleeping space.

_I hope my bunkmates don't snore this time, _Caleb had thought in passing.

Caleb, a Siberian husky in both species and attitude, was the leader of a group of eight pilots known as the Husky unit. This unit, in turn, served underneath Colonel Bill Grey, often times with Bulldog unit right alongside them.

To get that position, he had distinguished himself when defending the base during the Lylat Wars, and he was proud to say he had kept the "bogies off of Fox's ass" while the vulpine was busy taking out the mothership's core.

Currently, he was headed to the Lylat Star Ship (LSS) Bastion, the ship he would be calling home for however long the interstellar war decided to last. As mentioned before, though, he certainly wasn't happy about it, and if you knew Caleb well, it was a no-brainer to tell.

If anything, the canine was known as a jokester and an optimist around the base. He was almost always bantering with someone, making them laugh, cheering them up, or just being friendly to them.

That was not the case right now. Right now, he walked totally alone. His brown eyes were focused on his feet, his black-tipped tail was hanging low and limp, and his white ears pointed sideways instead of upwards. The backpack with his belongings was slung over his left shoulder, bouncing helplessly with each step. Even Lylat was floating low in the sky, casting a shallow orange glow onto the sandy landscape.

To understand Caleb's anger, though, one has to start from the beginning.

He had entered the Academy as a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed teenager as early as he could, on his sixteenth birthday. It had been his dream to touch the stars for as long as the canine could remember. Coming from a poor household, he had also wanted the pride of being the first in his family to do so. Several days in, however, he would find that he wasn't the only one with such a background.

In enters Alyssa Trent. Caleb could still recall the thoughts in his mind when that female panther entered the mess hall on that Friday afternoon:

_Damn, she's HOT!_

Every single one of her features had ingrained themselves into the canine's mind after the first five seconds. Her long, violet fur, her purple eyes to match, her small, rounded ears; each trait alone had been enough to make Caleb drool copiously into his ham sandwich. It was a textbook case of love at first sight.

After his guys friends had tried obnoxiously to snap him out of it by snapping their claws, Caleb had let his heart walk him over to the feline's table. Since it was her first day at the Academy, she had been completely alone, at least before the husky had sat down and clumsily introduced himself.

Luckily for Caleb, though, she had found his pathetic attempt at conversation amusing. Alyssa then introduced herself, and they would find out just how much they had in common during the thirty-minute lunch break.

Over time, their chatting evolved into a true relationship, and seeing the two together soon became a common occurrence. Whenever they both shared a day off, they were almost always doing something out in Corneria City, using whatever money they had managed to acquire to have a good time.

After two years in the Academy, the time came for graduation. Not wanting the good times to end, Caleb had worked tooth and tail to get them stationed at the same base and even into the same unit. Of course, his "work" was actually a large amount of begging and pleading with the deployment managers and Academy directors.

Seeing as they were no strangers to the Caleb-Alyssa relationship themselves, and noting the husky's sincerity, they agreed to station the two at the same base on Katina.

And now we get to the reason of Caleb's anger; tomorrow was the three-year anniversary of the say they met. Not only that, but he had planned to propose the next day at breakfast. He had saved up six months' worth of wages for the ring, and he had even persuaded Bill to get the cooks to make something special.

Now, out of the blue, System 77 had ruined all that.

Caleb didn't even understand why they needed to attack the underdeveloped system anyway. He couldn't care less about the supposed radiation bomb plaguing Corneria City. So what if one city was suffering? It wasn't like it was happening in every big city of the system, and System 77 warships were waging direct war on Lylat. He believed they should just leave the place alone and let them discover the Lylat System on their own.

Alas, he was a soldier, and his purpose was to follow orders, not to object the reasons behind them.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

/\\\\\\\\\\\

Elsewhere on the base, Sergeant First Class Alyssa Trent was busy packing up her own stuff. Her mind was far from her small suitcase filled with personal items, though. Her mind was on her wingman, her boyfriend, and the Husky unit leader, Caleb Canis.

Something strange had been afflicting the canine ever since Bill told everybody down in the mess hall about the ensuing war. She had figured that Caleb would start telling jokes as soon as the base commander finished, but for some reason, the exact opposite happened. Instead of bantering about it, he had tossed his plate roughly into the trash and had stormed off.

Alyssa had tried to catch up with the husky to figure out what the hell his problem was, but he had already receded into the guy's barracks, the one place where she wasn't allowed. She had no other choice but to scratch her head, shrug her shoulders, and move on.

Although it was a strange contrast to his usual behavior, it still didn't change her opinion of Caleb. When they first met, it was painfully obvious to Alyssa that the husky was love-struck, but out of pity, she played along. Over time, she did gain true feelings for the guy, too. They went on dates together, they laughed, they cried, and they shared everything. Caleb genuinely loved her, and she genuinely loved him back.

However, something in the back of her head always seemed to nag her. There was a piece of Caleb's personality that continued to turn her off, to push her away. Alyssa didn't even think the canine realized it, either. The guy didn't seem to know when to stop trying.

It seemed that every date had to be better than the last, every experience more romantic than the last, every moment more loving than the last. Everything Caleb did seemed to be a constant battle for her love. What the husky never discovered was that he had already won it after the first year. By continuing to try and try, he was ripping apart his own reward.

Alyssa was indeed considering a break-up with Caleb, but since tomorrow was their three-year anniversary, she had no idea how to go about it. Knowing Caleb, she knew the husky would have something big planned, and part of her just wanted to play along with it. Even with his faults, she did still care for him as a friend and comrade, and she really didn't want to break his heart.

On the other hand, she didn't want to let him believe a lie, either. She was no stranger to the effect of a snowballing lie herself, as her past clearly shows. She feared if she let this go on, she would pass the point of no return and be trapped forever.

It appeared this war would provide a stalling force against her decision, though. The two would be way too busy on their missions, they'd be sleeping on opposite sides of a crowded ship, and hopefully, Caleb's mind would be far from his plans. In that respect, she loved System 77's sudden intervention.

With this in mind, she closed her suitcase and headed to the LSS Bastion with a smile on her face.

* * *

_**Yippee, new characters! Anyway...**_

_**Jedelas: Thanks, and good luck getting over that writer's block. That shit sucks.**_

_**Robert Siegfried:**__** Don't worry. The length just comes from keeping track of several storylines and my policy of leaving no plot hole unfilled. :3**_

_**ianagainstcliffhangers:**__** Sir, not to be mean, but either you don't know much about Star Fox canon, or you're just not paying attention. However, I will forgive your transgression just this once and tell you that this is post-SF64, pre-Adventures. Now I expect better behavior in the future. |**_**:c**

_**Comrade:**** Aww, but being emotionally distraught over Fox is supposed to be part of the fun...**_


	10. Towards the Door

_**A/N: Happy Pi Day!**_

_**So, some very important news for everybody...from today until April 6th, 2013, I will be hosting a German student for an exchange program. From now until then, I'll be busy showing him around, forming a friendship, taking him on trips and to school, and so on. And frankly, I just don't know how much time I'll have to write.**_

_**Basically, forgive me if the next chapter comes a couple weeks late. I know the plot keeps thickening, but you'll just have to bear with me.**_

_**As a slight peace offering, I shall post two songs onto the story's playlist instead of one. (You'd better listen to them, too)**_

* * *

_"When my time comes  
Forget the wrong that I've done  
Help me leave behind some  
Reasons to be missed_

_And don't resent me_  
_And when you're feeling empty_  
_Keep me in your memory_  
_Leave out all the rest_  
_Leave out all the rest_"

**-Linkin Park - Leave Out All the Rest**

* * *

LSS Jericho, Edge of System 77

Somewhere, right outside Planet 77-9's orbit, a feline worked alone in the depths of General Pepper's flagship. His heterochromic eyes, one brick orange, the other ocean blue, were bloodshot and strained, but his work was far from the reason. In fact, all his work required at this point was glancing over detailed orbital data, taken from the recent scan of the system.

He was looking for a good place to hide the Lylatian fleet; a safe haven from which to launch whatever secret attack the general had in mind. Rightly so, too, as no one had any idea of the extent of System 77 technology. For all anyone knew, they had already been spotted.

Dennis Joseph had tried to insert some urgency into his work, but all the fuel in his tank was going towards his own personal game of hide and seek.

_"I just wish it had been under happier circumstances."_

Pepper's words ran laps around his thoughts, and unlike Dennis, they seemed to have near infinite energy. Yes, he had been promoted to chief scientific officer, but at what cost?

That amount had turned out to be Lance's life.

The arctic fox's death had been a shock to everyone in the Defense Force, and Dennis certainly was no exception. It rocked him like the metal-ist concert; it shook him like the strongest quake. They had told the poor feline that Lance wouldn't have felt a thing before he died, but Dennis found no comfort in those empty words. As far as he could see, dead was dead. He did not give a flying fuck how anyone got there.

_Happier circumstances..._

Dennis had also been briefed about the cause of Lance's death: System 77. Sadly, it was an emotional condemnation rather than a logical medical breakdown. It was propaganda for this new war, designed for nothing other than cause anger and to incite revenge.

Dennis knew well and good that Lance would not have wanted his death to be bastardized as it had been. He knew how humble the vulpine had been. Lance would've wanted everyone to move on with their lives. And somehow, Dennis knew Lance would've wanted to be remembered for his personality, not his post.

The feline was ashamed and offended that exactly the opposite was happening.

In the end, though, all Dennis really wanted was to have Lance in the room with him, working side by side. All he really wanted was to see his icy blue eyes and matching white fur once more. All he really wanted was to see Lance hide in the snow to scare the tail off one of the new recruits once more.

_Gone is gone. Dead is dead._

About then, Dennis found the coincidence he was looking for. Among the hundreds of printouts of orbital data was one on Planet 77-3's secondary body, Moon 3A. One number had cloned itself on the data sheet; 28.3 Planet 77-3 days. Both time of rotation and time of revolution shared this number, this very interesting number. A back-of-the-envelope calculation told the feline that one side of Moon 3A always faced the planet, and the other side was always hidden from view.

All they needed to hide was to get in a geosynchronous orbit around Moon 3A's "dark side," and the Lylatians would have the strategic equivalent of having their foot in the front door.

He let his thoughts on Lance slip for a moment as he eagerly made his way up to Pepper's quarters. He was more than ready to report his findings and have the fleet safe from prying eyes.

It was not a long trek by any means, and before Dennis knew it, he was knocking on the General's door.

"Who is it?" he inquired bluntly.

"It's Joseph, sir. I've found a good spot for the fleet."

"One moment."

A few very faint beeps were audible from the other side of the door before it slid upward. Pepper was standing at a numbered keypad, a look of confident expectation on his aging face. He nodded at Dennis, silently telling him to enter.

General Pepper's office was a rather expansive space for being on an interstellar cruiser. From above, it was almost a trapezoidal space, with his desk on the far side of the room. The way the walls were slanted inward gave Dennis the feeling that he was walking down a long hallway, when in fact, it was only about fifteen paces from the door to the front of Pepper's desk.

To Dennis's left, a large map was being holographically generated on the wall. It looked like it was supposed to encompass an entire planet, but at the moment, only half the map was visible, and even that had rough edges. His eyes soon found the small white caption at the bottom: _Planet 77-3._

"Do you like it, Joseph? It'll get filled in as the information comes," Pepper bragged. "So where do you suggest we put the fleet?"

"Oh, ummm," Dennis muttered, taken aback by the sudden changes in topic. "This will probably be easier to show rather than tell. Can you change that map to a map of the entire system.

"Oh, of course," he replied. He effortlessly tapped a few keys on his computer. The incomplete map of the planet was replaced by a complete map of System 77. The room seemed to become darker, too; Dennis wasn't sure if it was the map changing from a green to black background, or if it was just his imagination.

"Zoom in on 77-3 and its moon, please."

He pressed another key or two, and it was so. Dennis walked over to it and pointed at Moon 3A.

"We should station the fleet behind the moon," he said flatly.

Pepper looked at him, one eyebrow raised as if asking. _Go on…_

"I've found that Planet 77-3 and its moon are in what's called synchronous orbit. It means that it takes the same amount of time for the moon to complete one rotation as it does to orbit once around its planet. Basically, one side of Moon 3A always faces the planet. All we have to do is slip into orbit behind it, and we'll be right on their doorstep."

There were several moments of silence as Pepper appeared to consider the feline's proposal. His eyes looked at the map, then at his desk, then at the map again. Dennis could only stand there semi-awkwardly, swaying back and forth on his two feet.

"I do like the idea, but don't you think that's somewhat of an obvious hiding spot?"

"Not if we get there fast enough and set up our orbit correctly. We just need to find the spot where our ships stay above the same spot on Moon 3A. Geosynchronous orbit, if you will."

The general cocked his head sideways, trying to find holes in Dennis's plan. When none presented themselves, he nodded quite approvingly.

"Very well. I'll send the orders out as soon as possible. That will be all," he said, euphemistically telling the feline to leave.

Dennis turned around and started taking steps, but for some reason, his strides were short and lethargic. It was strange; the feline knew he wasn't sick, and even though he could feel Pepper's eyes boring into his back, he couldn't bring himself to move any faster. It seemed something different, something otherworldly was forcing him to move in slow motion.

As he approached the door, he could feel that same force rising from his lungs in a deliberate fashion. It worked its way into his vocal chords, causing them to vibrate in a certain pattern. It worked its way into his tongue, causing it to press against his fangs and the roof of his mouth. It worked its way into his muzzle, causing it to move up and down along with the other two. This combination caused him to suddenly blurt out:

"I miss Lance, sir."

Dennis immediately started to turn red underneath his dark grey fur. He forced himself to look at the ground, avoiding Pepper's stare, but he still couldn't get himself to leave the room. He finally understood the force behind his outburst, though. It was grief.

The silence deafened Dennis like he was standing next to a landing Arwing. Surprisingly, though, it didn't seem like an awkward silence anymore. It was inching closer to a reverent silence.

"It's okay, Joseph," Pepper finally spoke in a most understanding voice. "I do, too. He was a hell of a scientific officer, and probably a better friend."

Dennis cracked the faintest smile as some of the memories came floating back.

"And his death compounds our need to be here. There's no way we can lay down and let System 77 take such a terrible casualty. It's perfectly alright to mourn Lance's death, just don't forget: we're here to avenge him."

"And how are you so sure that's what he would want?" Dennis suddenly retorted, finding an inner flame he never knew existed.

"Look, Joseph. I don't know. I can't-"

"It's barely been seven hours since he died, and already all anyone can think about is turning him into a martyr for the war? We didn't even wait long enough to give the guy a proper burial, for Christ's sakes! After all he's done for us, that's how you want to repay him? Meaningless revenge?"

"You're not the only one feeling the loss here-"

"But that's all you pollies can do, isn't it? Appease the masses, stay on top, make sure you look good at the expense of everyone else-"

"DAMN IT, JOSPEH, I WATCHED LANCE DIE WITH MY OWN EYES!" the general roared back, fighting fire with fire. "You think you're the only one hurting here? Let me tell you something, Dennis. 450 million people are going through a radioactive hell back on Corneria! That means another two billion are wondering what the hell is happening to their loved ones! Thanks to System 77, those two billion get to watch their loved ones crumble into the dust they came from right before their goddamn eyes!"

Dennis had already put a paw out to go with his response when Pepper decided to drop the biggest bomb of them all.

"And you know what else? Fox McCloud is one of them."

Dennis did not fail to notice the flat, dark tone he spoke that final sentence in. It shocked him straight to his core. Fox McCloud, the infallible hero, Andross's killer, piloting perfection personified, was down? The feline found it impossible to picture the leader of Star Fox crippled by radiation poisoning. It just couldn't happen.

And yet it did.

All Dennis could do was stand there, mouth agape, as the full implication of Pepper's words sank in. He couldn't believe how much had changed with the universe in one short afternoon. It was beyond space, beyond time, beyond comprehension. And through his thinking, he never noticed the regretfully satisfied look on Pepper's face.

"Joseph, just go get some rest. I'll have someone get you when we have the first strategy meeting tomorrow morning."

"Sir...I-"

"Go. Get in your bed and don't move another muscle until morning, you hear me? That's an order."

He raised his law to speak again, but no words came out. He only emitted a short grunt.

"...Yes, sir," Dennis finally managed to get out before exiting Pepper's office.

The feline tried to switch his train of thought onto a different track, but every time, it just led him back to Pepper's words.

_And Fox McCloud is one of them..._

In one day, his perception of life, of Pepper, and of Lylat's hero had been drastically and tragically changed. The universe might as well have been in a washing machine for how much it was flipping its inhabitants around. It left the chief scientific officer in a peculiar and ironic state.

He truly had no idea what to think anymore.

/\\\\\\\\\

The Western Hemisphere, Earth

Night began to fall across the Americas, and once more, the many telescopes in the hemisphere turned to the sky. Their jobs may have differed from finding new asteroids to studying distant galaxies, but their purpose was the same: to scour the skies for anything and everything.

As it happens, one observatory in Hawaii had itself focused on a newly discovered binary star system. The major star, named 2018 Junus A was a relatively prominent white star; the minor star, 2018 Junus B, was a small red dwarf that orbited its partner every four years.

Under normal circumstances, finding another binary star system was nothing of note. In fact, the trends indicate that binary systems are more common than single star systems. The Junus system, however, was different.

Noticeable luminosity changes in both stars indicated that at least five planets orbited Junus A as well, and more were theorized to exist. As such, this Hawaiian observatory had its telescope pointed right at the white star, looking for those other planets, waiting for one to cross in front of the star to dim its light.

"Anything yet?" one of the astronomers asked the other.

"Nope," she replied.

They were the only two left at the current hour. Neither of them actually looked through the telescope's lens, though. They stared at luminosity versus time graphs, looking for the characteristic dip that revealed a planet crossing the star's path.

It was mind-numbing work, especially when it had to be performed while every normal person was sleeping. One strange, exciting, and simple fact kept them awake and waiting, though. Every planet found so far within the Junus system had been between 0.8 and 2 Earth masses. They were still working on the orbital calculations for the discovered planets, along with the problem of figuring out the system's habitable zone, but so far, it was the most probable candidate for extraterrestrial life.

It held a certain excitement in it. An excitement that they were closer to finding aliens than ever before. The fact that the pair in the observatory would get the credit was almost too much to think about. These thoughts, though, were what kept them awake long after the coffee ran out and the sun was just barely peeking out onto a new day.

So when their computers beeped to signal a significant change in luminosity, the astronomer duo sprang into action. Strangely, what they found was an increase in luminosity, not a decrease.

"Brendan, am I looking at this right? An _increase?_" the woman asked in disbelief.

"Probably just a random solar flare shot this way or something. I wouldn't worry about it. I mean, it's not a planet, so we don't care about it," Brendan dismissed, his excitement already dying down.

That was a far too idealistic and ignorant explanation for the woman to believe.

"This is a sharp increase, Brendan. It can't just be nothing."

"Why not? Luminosity fluctuates all the time. With an active star like Junus A, I'd be willing to believe it," he replied, his eyes screaming indifference as they returned to the computer screen.

She refused to accept such a simplistic theory. To her, it flew in the face of everything science was about. Brendan didn't seem care about testing theories, making educated hypotheses, or amazing discoveries. He only seemed to care about doing his job and then going home to sleep through the morning. All the observatory was to him was another part of the working man's grind.

"Well, screw you, I'm gonna go look through the scope," she said, storming out of the room and down the stairs.

The giant telescope obviously dwarfed everything else at the observatory. It was set up to have two eyepieces: one for the computer's camera to use, the other for any human that might want to have a look. The viewing platform of the telescope was set dead center of the main room, at its lowest point.

She sat herself down on the swivel chair and looked through the eyepiece. Expectedly, Junus A dominated her new vision, but soon after she noticed something sitting in front of the bright star. She couldn't make out anything specific through the glare of Junus A, but many tiny circles of light were super-positioned over it.

_They almost look like those weird reflections that come off of glass on a sunny day...but that would mean..._ Her eyes became as wide as dinner plates as her brain finished the sentence.

She couldn't believe it. She needed conformation.

"Brendan...get down here...you need to see this..." she yelled out.

"No," came the distant reply.

"NOW," she retorted, then added quietly, "You little shit."

"Nope."

Nobody could ever understand how fed up with Brendan's attitude she was right then and there. She equated it to trying to talk to an infant who only knew the meaning of the word "no." Luckily, she had a trick up her sleeve.

"Brendan, come down here before I take this camera, come up there, drag you back down kicking and screaming, and "accidentally" upload it to YouTube!"

"Hah! I'd like to see you try!"

"Do you really want to find out?"

Success. Footsteps started echoing down the spiral staircase. First, Brendan's size 12 feet were visible, then his long track runner's legs, then his oddly misproportioned torso and chest, then finally his exasperated face.

"Fine, what's so goddamn important?"

"Take a look," she said, gesturing to the eyepiece. "Tell me you don't see something weird in front of Junus A."

He reluctantly sat down and looked. As he knew all along, the white star was visible, and absolutely nothing else. And it was time to rub it in her face.

"As you wish, madam; there isn't something weird in front of Junus A."

Her smug grin quickly gave way to a double-take.

"Wait, what?"

"There's nothing there. Take a second look."

She did so as quickly as possible without injuring her eye on the cold white metal. Junus A was still there in all its might, and that was it. No strange, glassy reflections, no ghosts of car windshields floating in space, just another star burning brightly, fusing hydrogen and helium in its incredibly hot core.

"But...I could have sworn..." she babbled incoherently, eyes fixed forward.

"We're scientists. We do not chase shadows. Next time, make sure something actually exists before trying to call it to my attention."

Brendan receded back up the staircase, leaving his colleague to her uncertainty.

/\\\\\\\\\

Meanwhile, at an observatory just outside Los Angeles, scientists there were studying a rather impressive cosmological event. Apophis, the asteroid that the people had been hailing as the doomsday asteroid since 2012, had somehow had its path altered. Instead of flying by Earth in 2029 as planned, it had smashed into the Moon at around three P.M. Pacific time, August 7th, 2018.

Immediately, scientists rushed to their telescopes to investigate the blast, watch the amazing spectacle, and most importantly, make sure no huge pieces of debris were flying towards Earth.

They were still working on the last one when night fell. At this point, most of the dust had either dissipated into space or had settled back down on the Moon's surface. Rocks of a certain mass, though, had found for themselves a pleasant circular path around the satellite. To the casual observer, the Moon had gained a ring.

Scientists now were gathering data on the ring, using it as an example for how rings might form around other bodies in the universe. One scientist in particular had his telescope trained on the leftmost point of the ring.

So far, things were looking up. The ring was slowly but surely losing its structure. Soon, though, the said scientist received a surprise when a strange glint popped up in his field of view.

His first reaction was to dismiss it as a particularly reflective rock, but it didn't go away. The glint stayed stationary, just sitting there like ball lightning might. The scientist scratched his head for a moment, wondering what the hell it was, and whether or not he should raise an alarm.

After the glint continued to taunt him for the better part of a minute, he finally spoke up.

"Guys...I'm getting a strange glint here...anyone else want to train their scopes on the leftmost point? Tell me if you think that's normal?"

"It's probably just a reflective rock, don't pay it any mind," the scientist next to him said.

"See, that's just it. The glint ain't moving like a rock should."

"Leave it alone. Don't bring it up again unless it gets bigger."

_Like hell I'll leave it alone, _he thought angrily. He adjusted his telescope to zoom in on the glint. What he saw caused his jaw to not only drop to the floor; it smashed through it and came to rest in an abandoned mine a half-mile beneath the surface.

The act of zooming in had caused the glint to shrink. In its wake, cockpit windows revealed themselves to the hapless observer. For the longest time, he could only shake his head roughly and take second looks, making sure what he was wrong actually existed. When he was quite sure the cockpit windows were tangible, he practically dragged his associate's head down to his own eyepiece.

"Dude, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he cried out in confusion.

"You've gotta look through my scope. You're not gonna believe what I just saw," he argued, half-excited, half-terrified.

"Is this that reflective rock again? I told you to leave that thing alone."

"It's not a rock, man. It's a ship. A motherfucking ship!" the scientist stopped trying to move his colleague's head by force, and instead left it up to him to decide.

He seemed to consider it for a moment. After decidedly and deliberately rolling his eyes, and giving a protracted sigh, he took a peek.

"Knew it, nothing's there," he spoke almost immediately. "You should really consider getting your eyes checked."

"It was there, goddamnit! There was a ship there! Cockpit windows and all!"

"Stop acting like one of those self-professed alien abductees. There's nothing out there. And I'm fairly confident that if alien life exists somewhere out there, it's safe to assume that we'll find them first."

He sat there, speechless, pleading only with his eyes for his neighbor to reconsider. For a vague second, he thought his colleague was lying to take the credit for himself, but that was before he rechecked his scope.

The glint was gone.

And just like that woman so far away in Hawaii, he was left pondering one blunt yet very appropriate question:

_What the fuck is going on here?_

/\\\\\\\\\\

Des Plaines, Illinois

From the journal of Alec Aaron-Anders:

_August 7, 2018_

_Thank God. I finally got a new notebook. It's been a shitty three weeks, what with me not being able to write these journal entries and all. Even I don't know why, but writing these things is like life to me. It's not like I want people to see them, either, nor do I expect myself to become famous and publish these just so reporters will stop asking me about my childhood. For some reason, I just gotta write. I just gotta write._

_I just wish it was under happier circumstances, though. School starts up again in two weeks, and my mom thought it'd be best to beat the school shopping rush._

_Some plan THAT turned out to be. This was like one of the only notebooks left, a one-subject, black-covered, wide-ruled thing with the logo of something called "Starfox" on it._

_I did look it up on Wikipedia, though. Apparently, Starfox dates back to the freaking SNES. No wonder nobody bought it; people don't even emulate that outdated console anymore, much less play games on it._

_Back to the subject of school, or more accurately, how much it sucks. I'll be a junior, and sure, being an upperclassman will be great and all, but school will still suck._

_In fact, I think it's WORSE for me. It's kind of a long story why, but we begin with the race distribution of your average ChicagoLand public high school. I'd guess maybe 40% white, 50% black, 10% the other races that really have no bearing on the message I'm trying to get across. And it just seems like all the black guys are so freaking stereotypical. You know, the gangsta speech, liking rap, never seeming to give a shit, et cetera, et cetera._

_But, I'm not. I actually care about my grades, I prefer Anthrax to Drake, and my journals are probably the only places I curse. Hell, I dream of becoming a neurosurgeon, I can't afford anything under a C. Because of that, though, the other black guys shun me. And the white kids avoid me because they think I'm one of those stereotypical black guys, and so they're scared of me. (I guess you can't really blame them sometimes, but it doesn't make it any easier on me.) When in fact, I'm about as atypical as they come, as my Star Wars: The Third Trilogy backpack will attest._

_The only stereotypical thing about me is probably my ability to hold a handgun sideways and still somehow be able to shoot accurately._

_You can blame my dad for that one. That guy has such an obsession with guns. It stretches me to the end of my patience just thinking about it. And he tries and he tries and he keeps trying to get me to join in his little "hobby," but news flash:_

_I'M NOT FREAKING INTERESTED._

_Like just last week, he spent two days sleeping on the couch waiting for the latest addition to his collection, something called a VSS semi-automatic silenced sniper rifle. He bragged all weekend about how it was once in the hands of a Soviet Spetznaz agent and of his plans to show it off at the next NRA convention._

_It'll just end up like all his other guns, though: gathering dust in the basement by the fridge that contains all of our soda._

_I do feel it's worth mentioning, however, that my dad is still unsuccessful in his search of his self-proclaimed "holy grail of rare guns:" the Walther WA-2000. I don't know anything about it other than its name and that apparently less than 100 were ever made._

_I don't know. Sometimes it feels like my only company around here is Tobi the cat. Mom's always at work, Dad's always on the Internet looking for a new gun to spend Mom's money on, but Tobi's always around to give scritches to. I might go as far as to say he knows when I'm getting especially lonely, and that's when he comes in my room. I might even say that if I were a furry, an anthropomorphized Tobi would probably be my furry persona. (Not like I've thought about these things and all, though.)_

_I remember when we first got him. Tobi attached himself to me immediately, and for a time, I would get up at seven in the morning just to let him up onto my bed and pet him. I'd talk to him softly, you know, tell him my worries, my problems, my reasons to be happy or sad or angry, and he'd just sit there with an orgasmic look on his face as I'd idly scratch his ears..._

_That was before I became a teenager; before I started valuing sleep above money, before I started playing PC games to no end, before I started bitching silently into journals instead of out loud to my cat._

_I still think to those mornings and smile, though, and Tobi and I still love each other quite a bit. The other night I fell asleep with Tobi at my feet, and when I woke up, he had maneuvered his body into my outstretched arms._

_It was one of the happiest moments I've had in a long time, and I could've sworn he winked at me when I opened my eyes._

_Oh yeah, and we had severe weather scare back on the 26th, but it amounted to nothing, just like anything the weathermen make a big deal about._

_Anyway, tomorrow I'll probably go back to replaying Borderlands 2. I just found an orange rarity Maliwan Hellfire and I am absolutely in love with it._

_And Tobi says hi._

_Alec, out._

* * *

_**DaLintyMan: **__**Forgive me if I'm wrong, but it seems as if you are trying to subliminally steer the plot towards your vision of this story. Too bad that shit doesn't work on me. :)  
**__**(P.S. "Eighty megaton dose of interstellar friendship." Good way to put it, though.)  
**_

_**Wolfsalvo:**__** It's what I do, man. It's just what I do.**_


	11. Kriege und Sadisten

_**A/N: Again, really sorry for this delay, guys! It was hard to write whilst enjoying the company of a German exchange student! No matter now, though, because the writing train is rolling once more. :D**_

_**Enjoy, my friends.**_

* * *

_"(Let's have a war)  
So you can go and die  
(Let's have a war)  
We could all use the money  
(Let's have a war)  
We need the space  
(Let's have a war)  
Clean out this place_

_It already started in the city_  
_Suburbia will be just as easy..."_

**- A Perfect Circle - Let's Have A War**

* * *

LSS Jericho

"I'm glad you finally saw it my way, General," Schodek said smugly. He was the first to open his comm link to the first strategy meeting, and he wanted to take advantage of it.

"Mmhmm..." he muttered, nodding his head tiredly.

_Just like Schodek, stroking his ego at the worst of times._

Pepper was not alone in the communications room of the Jericho. Also present were Dennis Joseph and the remaining three-quarters of Star Fox; Falco, Peppy, and Slippy.

Star Fox had dropped off their downed leader rather late last night, so Pepper had simply allowed them to sleep on his flagship until the strategy meeting at 0700 Cornerian Standard Time.

If any of the Star Fox members got any sleep, though, it was because of radiation poisoning.

They weren't the only ones suffering from insomnia, however. Dennis's mind was still raw and bleeding from his previous confrontation with Pepper, and it definitely showed on his face.

At first, he didn't believe it when Pepper said that Fox was incapacitated. Around midnight, though, he saw Falco wander down the corridor in night clothes. He had been looking for a bathroom, and was too lost in his own thoughts to notice the feline's presence.

Dennis certainly noticed Falco, though. As soon as the avian found his goal, Dennis dashed as fast as he could to the infirmary. It was there that he found Fox in a fitful sleep, body curling and uncurling, tail flopping wildly, eyes pressed shut. The soft, repetitive beeping of the ECG soon faded into the background as the chief scientific officer took in the pitiful sight before him.

He had no idea how long he stood there, staring at Fox's writhing form. He seemed to remember the vulpine finally calming down, his body finally relaxing into a deeper, more restful sleep, but by that point, he was too tired to care. All he knew then was the extent of his own disillusionment.

And the only reason Dennis was still awake after such a tiring night was his personal stash of energy drinks.

Anyway, one by one, the other officers connected to the new meeting. Grey, Freimont, Solberg the ursine, and all the others showed up via holographic communication. Each offered a tired greeting to the general while they rubbed the stress of interstellar travel out of their eyes. They were acknowledged by equally tired responses. Solberg seemed to pay extra attention to Falco's appereance, first responding with feigned surprise and then attempting irrelevant small talk.

To the ursine's pathetic advances, Falco just rolled his eyes.

"So, are we going to get down to business, or what?" Schodek said, the only one enthusiastic about the strategy meeting in the first place.

"I suppose we must," Pepper agreed, ignoring the lupine's excitement. "Men—and woman—you all know why we're here. First, this system poisons hundreds of millions in Corneria City, and then they make a crude attempt at my life, only to take Lance down instead. Now, it's time to take our reparations.

"To start, I'd like to have Joseph pull up the detailed results of our earlier backtrace."

The feline nodded and began to type away on his late superior's laptop. A map of Planet 77-3's surface, scaled to show a 200 square mile section of the planet, popped up on the flat wall in front of all the comm links. On top of that, Joseph overlaid the 100 mile diameter circle that was TRACERT's backtrace result. It appeared as a green circle centered a few miles left of the square's center.

"If our supercomputer is correct, and by all means it should be correct, the place that launched the missiles should be within this green circle," Pepper explained.

The officers started scanning the map, Freimont being the one to point out the obvious.

"Well, it's in a desert, that's for sure."

"No shit, detective," Falco blurted out, only to receive a swift elbow to the ribs from Peppy.

"Could you zoom in a little farther on the circle? At this magnification, it's just a bunch of sand and random grey lines," Grey asked.

Dennis complied, and the viewpoint rushed towards the surface of the planet.

"Why didn't we do that in the first place?" the feline wondered aloud. He got a few quiet chuckles from the rest of the group, but he didn't really want them.

"Hey...I've found something," Peppy spoke up. "Look towards the top left, just within the circle. Doesn't that look like a high grade airstrip?"

Pepper and the rest squinted their eyes, trying to follow the hare's line of sight. Soon, they noticed it too without much difficulty.

"Hey, you're right. Joseph, how much farther can you zoom in?" Pepper inquired.

"25 square miles, sir. Is that what you would like?"

Pepper nodded hurriedly. Dennis typed in a simple one-line command, and once again the viewpoint rushed towards the surface. A complex resembling an international airport in the middle of nowhere soon revealed itself to the prying eyes of the Lylatians. The edge of the green circle just barely cut across the west end of the collection of buildings and runways.

Astonishment and confusion made their way through the meeting's attendees. They couldn't understand what such a complex was doing in the middle of a Katina-esque stretch of terrain. It made no practical sense to anyone.

Well, everyone except Schodek.

"Look at that. I think we've just found our culprit," he announced confidently, crossing his arms and putting on a smile.

"How can you be so sure? It's, like, right on the edge of the circle. Don't you think that maybe the culprit would be like closer to the center? Or something?" Solberg stumbled through her objection.

"How can I be sure? How can you be unsure? There's no room for doubt here!" Schodek retorted quickly. The ursine continued to stare, perplexed at the lupine's vague response.

"Look, I'll break it down for you, alright?" he said, gripping his temples. "First, there are only two roads leading into that complex. If it was anything civilian, not only would there be more roads, they'd be much wider. Second, there's not a city, town, or even a cave village anywhere near that place. That tells me that whoever built it wanted to keep it very secret.

"And lastly, it's in the middle of the freaking _desert. _No race needs airports in the desert, no matter how backwards it is."

"Easy, Schodek," Pepper warned. "I don't want to reprimand you again."

The lupine just rolled his eyes and shut up.

"As crude as that explanation was, I have to agree with him," Slippy said, moving the conversation forward. "It's downright illogical for that complex to have any other purpose than military."

"Ok, fine, it's military, but how do you know that's where the missiles came from?" Solberg shot back snappily.

Schodek had another demeaning retort slash explanation ready in his head, but an evil eye from Pepper told him to leave it there. Instead, it was Peppy's calm, gentle voice that answered the ursine's question.

"Ma'am, if you look closely at the eastern edge of the military complex, you will find that there are many probable missile silos lined up north to south. In fact, their location would also explain why TRACERT's estimation clips the other side of this base."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Peppy," Pepper lauded. His compliment was well-placed; Solberg stared at the projection for a moment, confirmed the hare's observations, and nodded her head in understanding. This simplification also had the unexpected effect of clearing out any doubts from any of the other delegate's minds.

"So it's settled," the general continued. "This base is the location of our initial attack. Are there any objections?"

He performed a slow scan of everyone's faces, looking for any sign of dissent or uneasiness. He found none.

"Very well, that's what we'll do. Joseph, see if you can hack into anything LylatNet like that this race might have. And if you're successful, look up as much as you can about our initial attack target."

"And what of the projection?" Dennis queried, adding the phrase _Your Highness _sarcastically in his head.

"You can take it down. If we need anything later, we'll let you know."

"Yes, sir." He shut down the projection program on Lance's laptop and began fulfilling Pepper's first request. As his paws flew across the keys, his mind flew to his newly-formed thoughts on this whole war-to-be. At first, when he saw Fox McCloud's sorry state, he did feel a twinge of hate towards the System 77 inhabitants. It was regretfully true.

Now, though, after seeing Schodek's sickening enthusiasm, and after seeing everybody else willing to play along with it like it's a game of Dungeons and Dragons, his previously raw and bleeding mind scabbed over rapidly with disdain.

If he thought it would have had any effect, he would have openly refused his orders from the start. However, to do so this far away from Corneria without a good plan would have been asking for a deadly trip out of the airlock. He had no choice but to bear the warmongers for the time being.

"Now that that's decided, what are we going to do about the rest of this planet?" Schodek asked almost eagerly while Dennis continued to type away.

"Good question. What is our ultimate goal here? Are we just going to take it over and reduce the inhabitants to extreme terror, or are we actually going to exterminate this race?" Freimont continued, adding further substance to the lupine's question.

All eyes except for Dennis's fell on Pepper as they waited for their answer.

"Well, I've been imagining total takeover of Planet 77-3. Once we succeed with that, we can begin to discuss the inhabitant's final fate," he somewhat explained, somewhat dodged. The answer seemed to suffice at the moment, as the strategy meeting soon moved forward.

"Total takeover, huh? I like that plan. The sound of pathetic governments falling will be like music to my ears," Schodek commented dreamily.

"And how do you propose we make that a reality, Mr. Sadist?" Falco mocked while actually asking a valid question.

This caught the lupine off guard. He didn't expect anyone to literally respond to his grim humor. Luckily, Schodek's a quick thinker.

"Well, I figured we could just assault the planet from here. As needed, troops would be deployed to whatever the target is at the time from the fleet. Simple, safe, and effective." He had just started being proud of his ad-libbed answer when Slippy gave a dose of truth.

"Don't you realize that would soon end in disaster? Not only would the inhabitants quickly and easily discover our location, but our mobility would also be crippled. It takes time and fuel to get troops from here to the planet's surface, and in that time they could already have retaken a base that desperately needed reinforcements! Schodek, your plan wastes lives, time, and resources," the frog finished firmly, having gotten his point across well.

So well, in fact, that it stunned the sadistic lupine into silence for several long moments. This act didn't go unnoticed by his teammates on Star Fox, either.

"I never thought I'd say this, Slippy, but nice job," Falco quipped in the silence. Schodek, meanwhile, was forced to fall back to the defensive.

"Oh, do you have a better plan? Because I'm sure everyone here would like to hear it," he retorted, crossing his grey-furred arms.

"He might not, but I do," Grey suddenly spoke up. Everyone's gazes shifted to the canine equally quickly.

Slippy let out a quiet, relieved sigh, having avoided Schodek's wrath for the time being.

The lupine narrowed his eyes disbelievingly at the Katina base leader. The only person he would have expected less to have a plan was Solberg, and to him, that wasn't saying much.

_Oh, this'll be good, _he thought to himself.

"Instead of laying waste to this desert base, like it seems _some _people prefer," he began, glancing at the lupine during the second half of the sentence. "...we should commandeer it instead. Use it as a surface-side base of operations. If we and our forces can pull it off correctly, there will be fuel to use, food to eat, quarters to sleep in, metal to scrap and reuse, the list goes on. Plus, we'd be that much closer to any other targets that we want to destroy."

After a moment of silence as the meeting's members comprehended Grey's words, almost everyone began to nod and murmur in agreement. Schodek, however, just growled and looked away, embarrassed that someone actually did have a better plan in mind.

"That's an excellent idea, Grey," Pepper applauded. "But why stop there? Instead of destroying bases, let's continually commandeer them. If we can take over the militaries, the governments will fall right along with them."

"With all due respect, sir, we don't have enough troops to repurpose bases like that," Freimont argued almost immediately. "I don't know the military strength of this planet, or the extent of their technology, but it's probably safe to say they outnumber us. Overextending loses wars, you know."

That realization drained much of the dopamine out of the room. Two seemingly sound plans had been shot down one after the other.

"What we have now isn't the full extent of our manpower. As we take bases, we'll clear space out of the flagships for reinforcements," Pepper argued back.

"...Which would in turn eat up a lot of fuel. We may be able to recruit more soldiers, but the fuel that powers warp drive is more precious than gold."

"We have more than enough warp fuel stored in Lylat to support this conflict for many months, Freimont."

"And what happens when that 'more than enough' runs out 'unexpectedly'? Everybody just gets stranded thousands of light-years from home? Is that your grand plan?"

"Uh...guys—" Solberg tried to interrupt, but was quickly cut off by the power of the argument.

"You're over-thinking everything again, Freimont. Nothing I've seen so far suggests that this race will put up that much of a fight. We have enough warp fuel for eight or nine months, and I highly doubt this war will last more than two."

"Guys—" she spoke, but her attempt to interrupt failed once more.

"That's what you said about the Lylat Wars. Does the phrase 'Andross will be dead in 10 weeks' carry any weight to you?" The avian began to tread a very fine line with his superior.

"And how was I supposed to know there was a thriving race on Venom's surface?"

"Guys, come on—"

"Oh, that preliminary data you're so fond of didn't tell you? How is that possible? You had so much trust in it," Freimont quipped sarcastically.

"You're really trying your hardest to get fired, aren't—"

"HEY! BOTH OF YOU!" Falco suddenly shouted into the violent verbal exchange.

"WHAT?!" Pepper and Freimont both yelled back, their anger shifting to a new target.

"You're not the only two in this meeting, you know. Solberg's got something to say," he pointed out, extending his wings towards the ursine's floating head on the comm link.

"_Thank _you, Falco," she said, putting extra emphasis on the phrase.

_Oh, brother,_ the blue avian thought, rolling his eyes.

"Anyway...um...why can't you just do both?" she suggested. When everyone just stared at her quizzically, she was forced to elaborate. "Why can't you destroy...and...take over? Based on need, or something?"

"Exactly," Grey backed up. He used his better speaking skills to explain what he knew Solberg had in mind. "We can take what we want, and lay waste to what we don't need. Simple as a barrel roll."

Peppy smiled and nodded.

Pepper and Freimont looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders, signaling that the argument was over.

"Great work, Grey. Problem solved. We'll still hop from base to base, but whatever we don't need, we destroy. That is the plan. Any questions?" Pepper waited a moment, seeing if anyone would break the silence. "Any objections?" he asked again when no one did.

"Then it's settled. Moving on."

"General, while we're on the topic of laying waste to things, I have an idea I'd like to—" Falco began, but now it was his turn to be cut off.

"Uh, General? You're going to want—no, you need to hear this," Dennis suddenly spoke out, his voice uneasy and alert.

"What is it, Joseph?" Pepper asked, choosing the feline over Falco. This was much to the latter's chagrin.

"I succeeded in hacking into their LylatNet analogue, called the 'Internet,'" he started. "I've found out something unsettling. You see, the base we're initially attacking is officially known as Edwards Air Force Base Detachment 3. Most people just call it Area 51, and that's what I'll do as well.

"Now, on this planet, many funny rumors are flying around about this base, the most common one being that it discovered an alien crash site. That very well may be false, but on the off-chance that it might be true, we might find some technology we'd never expect to encounter. Also, the base belongs to a country called 'America', and it is basically the strongest country on the planet.

"Finally, and most importantly, this race, known as humans, uses kinetic weapons."

The reaction was as startling as it was expected. Kinetic weapons had long been replaced by energy weapons in Lylat, so long that the words barely had definition anymore.

"Joseph, are you completely sure about that?" Pepper asked, obviously worried.

"One hundred percent. Plus, in America, almost any adult can purchase a handgun as use it to defend their home, under a law known as the Second Amendment. It could spell disaster if the entire population of this country is able to take up arms against us."

Disbelieving glances were exchanged around the room. Such a concept was unheard of. Letting the populace take up arms seemed incredibly ridiculous to everyone in the room. How could they have any semblance of peace in this 'America?'

"...Do...do our shields even protect against kinetic weapons?" Grey inquired, addressing the elephant in the room.

"I don't know," Dennis replied. "We've never had any reason to test our technology against kinetic weapons. For all I know, they could melt the bullets in their tracks, provide absolutely no protection at all, or anything in between."

_That sounds delightfully evil. I have to get my paws on one of those, _Schodek thought blissfully.

"We'd do best to be very careful, then," Grey reasoned. "If worst comes to worst, we may have to rethink our strategy."

"I couldn't agree more. Make sure nobody does anything silly," Pepper confirmed. "Keep up the good research, Joseph."

For a while, Dennis had decided against sharing such key information, on account of his distaste for the entire war. However, he also hadn't wanted to waste the lives of innocent soldiers by withholding said information. Doing that, he reasoned, would make him worse than the warmongers. Therefore, in the end, he shared it.

"Don't be so cowardly, everyone. It doesn't matter that the civilians can take up arms. All we have to do is adopt a scorched planet mentality. Let's not wipe out just the militaries, let's wipe out _everything,_" Falco explained, showing his inner fiend.

"Finally, an idea I can get behind," Schodek agreed with an evil grin.

"There is no need for such a violent attack, Falco!" Grey countered almost immediately. "The job will get done. We don't have to murder the innocent to get to the guilty!"

"Yeah, that's just unnecessarily mean!" Solberg backed up. Unfortunately for her, that sounded way better in her head, and all she got was an awkward silence in response.

"...Indeed," Freimont finally spoke, saving the awkward ursine from everyone's befuddled stares. "Anyway...I have to side with her on this one. As much as the scorched planet idea seems fun, it's just not morally justified."

"Maybe not to you," Falco replied in a dark, vehement tone. "But yesterday, I watched the strongest person I know fall flat on his face from radiation poisoning. I heard him ask me, in the tiniest, feeblest voice possible, if he was going to die. Now to you, Fox McCloud might just be a war hero. But to me, he's a friend, and a damn fine one at that. And I will not let these..._humans..._get away with an atrocity like that. So you know what? No matter what you decide, General, as long as I'm running Star Fox, we will operate by scorched planet."

It may have been the darkest and most convincing speech advocating extreme violence anyone had ever heard. It almost made Dennis reconsider his position, and although nobody knew it, he was the staunchest anti-war personality in the fleet. And although the speech was by all means powerful and emotionally charged, it only succeeded in swaying Freimont towards his side. The rest simply acknowledged the avian's point.

"...I suppose I can't stop you," Pepper admitted eventually. "After all, it was Fox who said you guys prefer doing things your own way. But just hear me out here. Plenty of us experienced pain yesterday. Deep, slicing, crippling emotional pain, just like you described. But I still don't think that justifies the killing of innocents. Just give it a thought before you do something reckless, promise me that, Falco."

Peppy was nodding and silently urging his teammate to listen throughout that entire speech. Falco almost wanted to say something, to the point of raising his feathery hand and opening his beak, but in the end, he resolved to stay silent.

_Wait, if you don't want to kill innocents, then why are you attacking all these other unrelated military bases?_ Dennis almost wondered aloud, and he soon regretted not doing so. However, it was probably for the best that he stayed silent as well.

"Pepper...before we move on...I do think there's some benefit to a scorched planet policy—" Freimont began with benign intentions. Schodek, though, promptly hijacked his suggestion.

"Yeah, there is. It'll be so much more satisfying watching them all fall!" he said with a wide, evil grin that only a sadistic lupine could muster.

"This war is not meant to fulfill your own barbarous desires, Schodek!" Pepper soon countered. "And Freimont, I expected different from you."

"I wasn't talking about civilians, sir! I was referring to destroying their structures! They're sure to have skyscrapers, large sports arenas, and the like on the surface, and those are obvious places for any guerrilla civilian troops to gather. If we destroy things like that, it'll make it much harder for said civilians to gather."

"Oh," the general vocalized. "In that case, I could see how that would have a benefit. The problem is we only have so many nova bombs to use."

"And what happened to being able to go back for supplies and reinforcements whenever we wanted?" the brown and red avian mocked.

"Don't you start again, Freimont."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"In any case, I'll leave that up to each of you to decide. I know Falco won't listen to me on this last provision, but everyone else, if you decide to start destroying structures in their cities, do try your hardest to take the smallest number of civilian casualties as possible. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," everyone except Falco replied.

"Very well, if that's all—"

"Hold on, General," Dennis interrupted. "I've found a few more problem areas on this planet."

"Go ahead, then, Joseph."

"I'm going to pull the map back up if you don't mind," the feline narrated out loud. "Now, first is the continent they call Africa." As he said this, the image of the mostly desert continent made itself visible on the back wall of the comm room.

"It is in very sorry shape. Very few countries in Africa are industrialized to a level even resembling places like America. The area is crawling with poverty, disease, and civil war. I don't know how you'll approach this area, but I would do so with caution and even pity.

"Next we have a region called the Middle East." The camera panned over to an all desert region to the east-north-east of Africa. "This area appears to be a powder keg of insurgency and extremism. Mostly, they fight each other around here, and many of them hate America as well. As for my suggestion, avoid this area if possible. The last thing we need is all of this tension to be directed at us."

"Lastly, we have a country called Russia." The camera panned northward. "This country is interesting in the fact that it has never been successfully taken over, at least in human history. It shouldn't be a huge problem like the Middle East could be, but be prepared for unexpected things."

"That's very interesting, Joseph," Pepper replied tiredly. He didn't have the heart to tell the chief scientific officer, but none of that superfluous information changed any of his plans. "Make sure you note all of that down for later."

Dennis didn't need a mind reader to tell him what Pepper _really _just said. He closed the laptop roughly and crossed his arms while he chalked up one more reason to hate this war.

"Now, all that's left is to decide on a time for the initial attack. Any ideas?" Pepper asked.

"I know it's cliché, but dawn there seems like a great option for our purposes. We can use the low starlight to drop off our ground troops silently, and then swiftly take over the base using the element of surprise," Grey explained.

"Bill, you've done it again," Pepper smiled. The canine was on a roll with great ideas this morning. "Should that be our plan? Any other suggestions?"

The characteristic silence of agreement rolled through the room.

"Excellent. Joseph, look up the time of dawn for this Area 51, please."

"I already did," Dennis said, still scowling and sulking. "0600 local time. That's two and a half hours from now."

"Grey, since you seem to know exactly what you're doing, and your troops are the most skilled in desert warfare, I'm assigning your group to make the initial attack. The rest of you, ready your troops for transport. When Grey and his squads succeed, head for that base to get your orders. And Joseph, improve your attitude."

The feline just rolled his eyes. He was completely certain he would hate and dread the days to come.

* * *

**_Jedelas: Pepper and Dennis are an interesting pair, that's for sure. I don't want to reveal too much, but Dennis is going to be a fun character to follow. Hint hint. :3_**

**_xSporkyx:_****_ How dare you commit such a heinous crime against my peace offering! Go sit in the corner, think about your life, and I expect to see no more such infractions in the future. _**

**_Twilit Smash_****_ Nova:_****_ Wanna know a secret? My beta did not enjoy me adding OC's that don't seem to have any significance at the moment. I must thank you for proving him wrong. :3_**

**_3-D Jak:_****_ Nothing wrong with a little video game allusion here and there, am I right?_**


	12. The Encounter

_**A/N: Well, back to the same old schedule. No problem this time, though, cause I've been looking forward to writing this chapter for a long time. So much so that we have a double song update. Yay!**_

_**Anyway, enjoy. You don't have to be impatient anymore! :D**_

* * *

_"All alone, he turns to stone  
While holding his breath half to death.  
Terrified of what's inside  
To save his life  
He crawls like a worm from a bird  
Crawls like a worm from a_ _bird_"  
** -The Used - The Bird and the Worm**

_"I'm rejecting? Back and building  
__Where you stare I do not care.  
What is crawling and competing  
Everything is everywhere  
Deep inside you get around it  
Reaching back another day  
Jump it up and feel the heat  
You snap the mag and blow_ _away!"_  
** -Rob Zombie - Reload**

* * *

Edwards AFB Detachment 3

Early morning began to show its face outside the walls of the base. The black and violet hues of the night were starting to give way to more radiant reds and blues of early dawn.

Dimon wouldn't have cared even if Mark Twain had described it to him.

Not only did the grey walls on the inside never change, but to the recently demoted colonel, time began to coalesce into ridiculous shapes. One minute, his senses would be sharper than a feral cat's, and then the next twenty minutes would pass in the blink of an eye.

_Surrealist, thy name is insomnia,_ he thought tiredly.

After his brush with—rather, his head-on collision—with failure at the hands of busted warp drive probes, Dimon found himself lost in self-pity. Like an M. C. Escher painting, he had lost all perspective on everything around him. As Dimon coasted through lunch, dinner, and eventually bedtime, his brain played the same highlight reel of shitty events over and over as if he were the subject of a sports headline.

The events spun through his mind thusly. First came the insomnia due to excitement. Then came the near accident during his three and a half hour commute. Next up to bat was that hour of just staring at the projection as the hour countdown fell to a half hour, then fifteen minutes, then five, then one, and eventually zero.

Most prominent was that one moment when Dimon realized things had stopped going as planned. To continue the sports analogy, it was the grand slam of the day's plays. At that point in his personal slow motion replay, time froze solid. Everything else after that became frosting on life's torturous cake.

Unfortunately, that cake still wasn't fully baked. What better to add on top of soul-crushing disappointment than another generous helping of insomnia!

Dimon had tried to catch some Z's at the base's barracks. He truly had. He slid underneath the covers at 21:00 the previous night, giving himself as much time as possible to fall asleep.

Looking back on it, he would have been better off going to a 24-hour nightclub. It surely would have been better than tossing and turning for seven hours straight. Dimon gave up trying at four in the morning, retreating to the one place that started it all, the place that he knew so well. You guessed it, the same office that was container of all those wretched, poisonous, disastrous memories.

He didn't even understand why he would go back to a place like that. Maybe it was his mind already starting to go from lack of sleep. Or maybe he had a fleeting hope that returning would bring him full circle.

_Or maybe I'm just stupid._

In any case, he sat down, put his earphones in, and started listening to the heaviest music that he could find on his iPod. And that's when time started to flow in blobs and blinks. Dimon had no idea if he was actually dozing off, or just zoning out, or if there was even any difference between the two.

The major checked the time. Five 'til six.

He leaned back in defeat. August 7th had been completely shitty, and August 8th was looking no better.

_Life, if you're hearing this, I'd like to get off the train now._

If he had been just a little more attentive, a little less tired, and a little less focused on a song by Device, he just might have heard the first signs. He could've had a chance to prepare, if only for a few extra seconds. Instead, he was caught completely by surprise when Ericson burst into the room, and he nearly fell out of his chair in response.

Dimon was ready to scream his head off at the lead scientist for appearing so haphazardly, but that was before he noticed Ericson's face. He appeared to be on the verge of tears, and the characteristic grey dust of rubble lined his plain T-shirt and flannel shorts. It didn't take the major long to figure out that something had gone terribly awry.

"Wha...What the…?" was all Dimon had to say.

"Sir, the base is under attack!" Ericson choked out, barely clinging to his balance and his sanity.

As his tired brain connected those words to their proper meanings, his eyes went wider than Texas steak-style dinner plates.

"What?!" he shouted back, still not entirely sure what he heard.

"The base is under attack, Dimon! They've already bombed out the barracks, I mean, I was lucky to escape with my—" Ericson's vocal chords got stuck on that last word, and he emitted a sound reminiscent of pulling a cartridge out of a GameBoy while it's turned on. Then, in slow motion, he fell forward onto his face, never to know what had slain him.

But Dimon knew. While the lead scientist was finishing his sentence, a beam of some kind of green energy had traveled down the hallway, striking Ericson on the side of the head. Dimon knew his death was cemented when said beam of energy came out the other side right along with a spray of red. The dull thump of a corpse hitting the metal floor seemed louder than standing next to a bass drum.

If anything could shock Dimon into forgetting about his insomnia, it was surprise combat. Almost immediately, he ducked underneath his desk, ripped his earphones away from his body, and opened the bottom right drawer. Once inside, he pulled out his MAC-10 machine pistol, attached the shiny, obsidian-black suppressor to it, and waited.

Of course, the MAC-10 was not standard issue in the military, but luckily for Dimon, he knew what strings to pull. Everything from the 32 round magazine to the custom machined stock had appealed to him as long as he had owned the pistol. Dimon had used it on the shooting range countless times, but now he was ready to test it on some real targets.

The wait seemed to last forever. Every breath that he took, every beat of his heart, all of it became another way to accidentally reveal himself to the enemy. Paranoia started to flare as milliseconds turned into hours. A single bead of sweat ran down his face.

In this time, he silently wondered who could be behind an attack like this. North Korean, Chinese, Russian, who? And why? What would they have to gain?

Then, footsteps. Dimon could hear them entering the room. Two sets of two. There was a tiny sliver cut out of the desk that he was able to look through. There were four legs, two each, and…tails?

_What the fuck, why do they have tails?_ the major thought, but there was no time to reflect on it.

One pair stepped carefully over Ericson's body. They walked slowly, cautiously, around both sides of the desk. Left or right, left or right, left or right, Dimon had to decide quickly.

He chose right. Rapidly rising to his full height, he aimed and fired at the back I the first one's head. It hit him in the back of his head, dead center. Like Ericson, he never knew what hit him.

The second one wouldn't be much more fortunate. Dimon's choice to kill the left guy first gave him time to register the human's presence, but he couldn't do much more than whirl around and try to raise his weapon. By that time, Dimon did a one-eighty and put a bullet right between his eyes.

As the second one fell, Dimon leaned over and caught his body to ensure no extra noise was emitted from the room.

Never letting go of his trusty sidekick gun, he walked over to the door and silently closed it. Dimon started dragging his desk and several filing cabinets across the room, as quietly as possible, in order to barricade said door. It wouldn't be much, but he reasoned it would be enough to warn him of a flank.

After moving all the room's furniture, he stepped over to one of the two enemy corpses in the room. He grabbed one of their rifles and started examining it.

It almost looked like something out of Borderlands. The rifle had a long, slender shape. The pistol grip and extendable stock were both extended. The sights consisted of two vertical posts, one within a metal ring, attached via rail to the top of the gun, plus a laser sight crudely secured to the barrel's underside with tape. The magazine protruded sideways from the rifle a couple inches above the trigger, and it was glowing traffic light green. The entire thing was painted in desert camouflage, and the code "LBR-85" was scratched into the stock's butt.

"Alright, this'll do," Dimon mumbled nearly silently. He crouch-walked over to the far right window of his office, setting his trusty machine pistol down next to him. Right as he began to open the bottom half of the window, though, a good look at the launch room below stopped him in his tracks.

It was a complete massacre down there. The few scientists in the room, armed only with melee implements and semi-automatic pistols, fell like flies to the enemy's laser fire. Occasionally, one would fire several shots down a hallway, surely keeping any reinforcements at bay. Many bodies, almost all of them human, were strewn across overturned desks and smashed computer hardware.

Dimon started counting the enemies, but at the same time, he asked himself a very pressing and currently unanswerable question:

_Where the fuck are all the soldiers?! _

Suddenly, out of the blue, Ericson's voice seemed to telepathically yell back:

_**They've already bombed out the barracks!**_

…_in that case, let's get some revenge._

He counted at least 20 of the anthros gathered on the launch room floor. From his concealed location, he thought it would be a piece of cake to take them all out. So he rested the end of the barrel on the open window's edge, lined up for his first headshot, took a deep breath in, and fired.

A couple unexpected things happened at once. First, Dimon discovered that the alien weapon was not a semi-automatic weapon, but rather a three-shot burst gun. His first shot landed on its target, but the other two flew astray, striking two unrelated spots on the floor.

Second, as soon as Dimon's accurate first shot was about to take its victim, a translucent, reddish-pink, egg-shaped dome surrounded the target. It absorbed the laser bolt easily and soundlessly, stealing all of its intentions and existence away in one swoop.

_Shit!_ He thought, ducking back out of sight. _Where the fuck did that come from?!_

Dimon certainly wasn't prepared for a shielding mechanism like that. The two dead anthros behind him only added to his confusion, since no such mechanism had protected those two from their untimely demises.

He laid prone on the floor, listening for flanks with his ears while he tried to figure out this shield dilemma. He kept reviewing the facts. The two enemies behind him fell without a problem, but the target on the launch room floor was protected by a shield. Two fell to a machine pistol, but none to the alien rifle. Two fell to a MAC-10, firing bullets; none to the alien LBR-85, firing lasers...bullets...lasers...

Dimon's eyes shot open as he discovered this hypothesis. And as he followed his train of thought further, he found it made sense. These enemy anthros protected themselves from their own technology, but not from, to them, alien technology.

But he still wanted to be sure. Dimon looked around, trying to figure out a way to test his theory. His blue eyes soon gravitated to practically the only color in the room, the two anthro corpses. They were still spread-eagled on the floor, both pairs of eyes still staring blankly straight ahead, both bullet wounds still slowly leaking blood.

_...I wonder..._

Dimon rose the LBR-85 once more, took aim at one of the bodies, and fired another burst.

Sure enough, that same translucent dome surrounded the wearer, even if he's dead or alive. All three laser shots were absorbed in the shield, just like the first time. Dimon then exchanged the rifle for his MAC-10 and fired again. The bullet went straight through, bypassing the shield like it never even existed.

Now that his theory was proven, he almost crawled back to the window to snipe with his machine pistol. Right before moving, though, he had another idea. Going towards the other corpse this time, he started examining the late enemy's armor, looking for whatever generated the peculiar shield.

He must have looked over the dead anthro's body at least five times with no luck. Everything looked somewhat normal, as far as standard military outfits go.

_Fuck, I don't have time for this, but I need that shield if I want to survive against these things!_

Dimon looked once or twice more, but he still failed to figure out what made the shield work. Instead, he threw caution to the wind and stole the helmet and the camouflage vest over the dead guy's chest and torso.

He put them on with haste, although he had some trouble with the helmet. To Dimon, the shape of it just seemed off, incorrect. He knew it was made for this belligerent anthro race and not for humans, but that didn't change the fact that it was uncomfortable. He could also feel the air coming through two slits cut out of the helmet; Dimon figured these were for their ears.

After securing the alien armor on his body as best he could, a robotic voice suddenly spoke from a speaker somewhere above Dimon's right ear:

"Scan complete. Shield charged and ready."

_Well, that went better than expected._

Then, several different voices started speaking, announcing all manner of things over some kind of radio system. To Dimon, it sounded like a bunch of people reporting about the areas they've captured, but what surprised him most was that they somehow spoke English.

He didn't linger for a long time on this incredible coincidence. Instead, he finally felt ready to snipe out of the window like he originally planned. He unfolded the stock on his MAC-10, made sure the suppresser was still attached securely, mentally counted how many bullets he had left in his magazine, and then took another look out of the far right window.

Most of the violent fighting was over. The anthro soldiers in the room now appeared to be searching through whatever files they could find or attempting to hack into the one or two surviving computers. Towards the center of the room, a group of four or five anthros were congregated around a laptop looking device doing God knows what.

Dimon lined up his first shot, picking one of the hacker soldiers as his first target. He fired.

The blood had barely finished splattering out of the first target's head when Dimon lined up and made his second shot on the hacker's partner. Suddenly, a blast of confused, terrified, and angry chatter burst out of the alien's communications system. It nearly broke Dimon's concentration, but he did what he was trained to do. Tune out distractions, tune out morals, focus on survival and the objective.

Dimon's objective was to kill.

The smart ones on the floor, including the five setting up their laptop-like device, took cover behind the nearest solid object they could find. As the crazed chatter continued above his ear, Dimon continued taking potshots. A third, fourth, fifth, and sixth fell to his MAC-10. He tried to line up his seventh, only to find the barrel of another LBR-85 pointed in his direction. He dropped down just in time for three laser bolts to fly over his stolen helmet.

_Shit, now what, _Dimon asked himself. He knew he had twenty bullets left out of thirty-two in his magazine, but he most certainly couldn't snipe from the windows anymore. The last thing he wanted, though, was to be on the defensive, but with one versus God knows how many, it seemed more and more like an inevitability every second.

Dimon crawled across the room towards the far left window. Ever so slowly, he raised his head up just high enough to get a view of the launch room.

In the one safe second it turned out he had, he saw at least ten guns pointed up at his office. All but one of them were aimed from behind cover. The odd man out stood right in the open, tall and straight. From what the human could gather, he had been standing over one of Dimon's kills. Not only was he the first one to fire once the major peeked his head up, Dimon thought he noticed some kind of watery reflection near the anthro's left eye. It could only have been a vengeful tear, shed for the enemy's fallen comrade, whose corpse he was guarding if not for grief, then for some powerful symbolism.

This sight didn't affect Dimon in the slightest. Another flurry of suppressing laser fire came through the windows, their raw energy melting the glass into puddles at the human's feet.

The only other thing he noticed, just out of the corner of his eye, was a group of soldiers working towards the stairs. With the stairs and Dimon's barricaded door being the only entry into the office, he easily deduced where the next assault would come from.

But how to combat it? They were sure to send more than two troops this time; in fact, Dimon still couldn't figure out why only two came at first anyway. As far as that was beside the point, it would baffle him in his subconscious to no end.

Anyway, his mind raced for a solution to the new problem before him. He looked around the room for inspiration, but the only things not piled against the door were the three corpses; two anthro, the last Ericson's. The smell was starting to get somewhat overbearing.

Aside from that, it was just a boring old square room with a pile of junk against the door.

Dimon almost jumped out of his skin when said door started getting pounded on. It was a really strong, rapid knock, the kind that showed anger and impatience.

"Open up in there, human, and maybe you won't die!" Dimon heard through the door.

"It's no use, sir, he must have it barricaded or something!"

Dimon knew he had to act. Fast. There was no cover, nowhere to hide, no easy way out. But the only thing he could think of was to push the corpses into a pile in the center of the room to cause an strange distraction. Then he fell prone behind the pile, going for the best element of surprise he could think of.

The smell was even more unbearable that close. His entire face cringed when it hit him, and suddenly, his only wish in this world was for nose plugs.

The room lit up in green. What seemed like hundreds of laser bolts began to fly straight through the room above his head. Another egg-shaped dome appeared from the pile of bodies, the second anthro's shield still protecting him even after death. It was quite simple to see that the major couldn't stay safely in his "secret" position. As a man with no other options, he crawled into a corner adjacent to the door, crouched, and waited.

On his way, he saw why laser fire was flying haphazardly through the center of the room. The green, high-energy bolts were literally melting through his office supply barricade like it was so much kindling. Before long, what used to be his furniture and files was now a smoldering, smoking, amorphous blob on the ground.

Dimon instinctively pushed himself further into the corner.

A single foot stepped into the room, and for a millisecond there he though the rest of him would follow. Right as Dimon raised the MAC-10's barrel to head level, somebody pulled the guy back out of the room. He could hear that soldier's savior whispering something about an obvious ambush.

_God, please let them guess the wrong corner, _Dimon hoped, knowing his cover was more or less blown. Still, it was a fifty-fifty chance that he would get one more free kill before truly fighting or his life. The major kept his weapon raised.

With a tiny clank-clank, a small cylindrical object bounced innocently into the room, coming to rest silently on the corpse pile. Dimon grimly realized that it's intentions were not so innocent.

_Well, fu—_

A flash brighter than a million suns engulfed the room, and simultaneously, a crack louder than ten million gunshots echoed off the flat, sound-reflective walls. Both inputs assaulted Dimon's senses to the point of deafness and blindness. Closing his eyes did nothing, and the major could feel blood leaking out of his ears.

But that was it. There was no explosive force, no loss of limb, no shower of dead people's blood. The cylindrical object had not been a grenade, like Dimon expected, but rather a powerful flash-bang.

The major could still feel his outstretched arms holding his trusty machine pistol. Even though he had no way of knowing where the gun was pointed, and no way of knowing if anyone was even on the wrong end of the barrel, he depressed the trigger as fast as he could, still counting the shots as best he could. Dimon would have switched the MAC-10 to full auto, but there was one problem. He was still blinded, and therefore he was unable to find the switch.

After pressing his eyes shut for who knows how long, and after pulling the trigger exactly fifteen times, the blast of white light began to fade. As did the crazy ring in his ears. He doubted his hearing would ever recover, but at least he was able to open his eyes again.

The major had no clue what he expected to see. He figured it would be closer to the "staring down the barrel of an alien rifle" end of the spectrum, if anything; he was surprised to see that this was not the case. Dimon was still safe in his corner, as close to unharmed as one who just witnessed a flash-bang explosion could be.

The surprise went even further. His wild bullets had actually taken enemy lives. At first, he couldn't believe it, but the two new face-down anthro corpses across the door, feet pointed towards Dimon, didn't lie. Sure, the killing shot hadn't been as accurate as his previous kills, but dead was dead.

His gun felt light in his hands. Only five bullets were left in his magazine. They were worth five kills, if he was extraordinarily lucky. He reached into his pocket to grab another magazine, only to remember that he kept his spare mags inside the currently disintegrated cabinet against his door. And somehow, he was sure more than five soldiers were congregated outside the doorway.

Crunch time approached fast for the human. To stay in the corner was suicide. To try to go Rambo on the enemy squads was suicide. And the enemy would not play it carefully for long by trying to wait him out.

Dimon came to a decision he thought he'd never have to put into practice. The door was the only practical way out. It was not the only way out. His latest plan was that of a desperate man trying to escape being surrounded. With whatever protection his appropriated shield would give him, he would dart across the room, jump through the windows, and try his best to get out to the open desert and way from the sieged base.

Dimon stopped thinking. Dimon started to act. Pushing off the wall, he dashed the thirteen feet from wall to wall, figuratively and literally throwing caution through the window. Immediately right behind him, laser fire erupted from the doorway.

As far as Dimon knew, every shot missed from the troops at his six. But the second he broke through the leftmost window, at least ten other soldiers fired upon him from the launch room floor.

The reddish shield popped up around him as he landed and somersaulted into a run. With only five bullets, he could hardly provide suppressing fire, but his objective was opening up right in front of him: the hallway out of there.

Dashing towards the objective on his left, he maneuvered around busted desks, broken computer towers and monitors, and the bodies of both humans and the enemies. He stayed as low as he could, making himself that much of a smaller target, but still his shield lit up, blocking lasers with furor.

The hallway grew wider as he moved closer. He fired a shot at the anthro trying to block it, not even aiming to kill anymore, only aiming to wound and disable. Dimon managed to succeed, putting a shot through the soldier's belly and crippling him with pain.

Laser fire continued to follow him. He took his first steps into the hallway, finally getting ready to be home-free. It was that moment that the flash-bang from earlier screwed everything up.

No shield is invincible, no matter how advanced. It certainly had served Dimon well, tanking almost twenty shots for the major. These shields, though, were programmed to warn the user before they were taken down. Thanks to the flash-bang, he never heard the angry, alarm clock like noise ring in his ears, because said ears were still ringing with a very similar frequency. Dimon never got the warning that he should take some cover and at least attempt to let the shield recharge. As such, his shield died four steps down the hallway.

Now that the human was completely vulnerable, it was child's play for the enemy soldiers. Three decent shots was all it took.

Dimon felt each one hit right after the other. One blew through his left thigh, the second through his lower right chest, and the last one melting through one of his kidneys. The sudden jolts of agonizing pain broke his escape in mid-stride, and he tumbled to a stop, blood from wounds flying in all directions.

When he finally did stop, he was on his back. He breathed heavily as he felt both air and blood leaking from the chest wound. He could not control his left leg anymore; the laser had melted the bone, not to mention most of his nerves as well.

Dimon felt himself freezing from the inside out. He felt his consciousness slipping down its final slope. And as the world grew dark around him, he noticed several of the enemies gathering around him, staring down curiously, angrily, disgustedly, and a couple other emotions he had no energy to identify. He did make one final observation, though. One he never fully realized at first, but now it struck him like a falling anvil.

"You guys...are...fur..." he spoke ever so weakly before finally giving up the fight.

* * *

_**Boy, I really polarized my fans with that last chapter. Anyway...**_

_**xSporkyx: Well, in any case, I'm happy to have made a fan out of you, transgression or no transgression. And Fox's role here will be a strange one, that's for sure. Look forward to it.**_

_**Major Simi:**__** Yes, Hitler is certainly cheering from hell for these furries. XD**_

_**XJ26483: **__**I hate to give a one word response, but indeed. Indeed.**_

_**Officer Hot-Pants: I was gonna have a huge dissertation prepared to counter your review, but then I realized that your point of view tells me exactly what characters you'll side with. And boy, will he have an adventure, I tell you what. One thing, though. Falco's not disagreeing with stuff like intended targets or strike times, he just wants to create a shitload of collateral damage. Hope that clears that up.**_

_**Order and Chaos - Qui Iudicant: Welcome to the story, my friend, and best of luck to you on your endeavors as well. :3**_


	13. Outward Bound

_**A/N: Just one question for you today. How's the music? Fitting? :3**_

_**Anyway, no need to drag on this chapter, just read and enjoy.**_

* * *

_So you say I make a man  
As it ends  
Well, give us your sad, sad trip_

_You're right  
I get it  
It all makes sense, you're the perfect person  
So right  
So wrong  
Let's all live in your imaginary life._

**-Chevelle - I Get It**

* * *

LSS Jericho

Dennis Joseph leaned back in his chair aboard General Pepper's flagship. In front of him, on Lance's old laptop, there was displayed a map of all the Earthen military bases and targets that the Lylatians planned to attack. Most were marked with a solid red color, meaning they were still under enemy control.

Only one was marked with flashing yellow: Area 51.

The flashing yellow meant that the battle was still going on. It had been that way for the past thirty minutes.

Dennis wondered why it was taking so long. After Grey had had the idea to destroy the barracks as soon as possible, the black feline had assumed a much quicker capture than what was originally planned. So far, he had been provenwrong.

He had also been doing his best to distance himself from the entire war. There wasn't much he could do, though; he held a very high position in the Cornerian military, and as such, he was expected to help out their cause in any way possible.

But helping out with that cause just condemned more Cornerians and humans to death fighting a war they shouldn't have even started in the first place. The inner conflict was annoying at best, and at worst, it threatened to drive him mad.

Dennis wished there was something he could do besides hiding that conflict. Just staying quiet and doing nothing but the bare minimum wouldn't go unnoticed, though. Pepper would be all over him. And going AWOL would be nigh impossible 4500 light-years from home. He was trapped between deep space and a hard place.

The feline reached for his cup of coffee and took a sip. Almost immediately, he spat it out in utter disgust.

_Damned preserved coffee tastes terrible!_

Speaking of Pepper, he was actually very close to Dennis. Only a thin wall and a door separated them. The door could only be opened from Pepper's side via an electronic lock. The feline had no idea why the general would require such privacy, although he could swear that he could hear the sound of darts hitting a wall coming from the other side.

Suddenly, a repeated high-pitched beep shook him from his thoughts. The blinking yellow light had finally turned green, and at the same time, a small box appeared, indicating that one of the Earth-side squad leaders needed to talk. Dennis tapped on the button to patch him though.

The image of a vulpine, probably Fennec, popped up on the holographic screen of the laptop. She looked somewhat shaken up, surprisingly. Her ears were tilted back with fatigue, and her breaths came heavily and quickly. Dennis could tell that she didn't want to waste time with formalities, so neither did he.

"Did it go well?" the feline started off bluntly.

"For a time, yes," the fox on the other end replied swiftly. "Then _he _showed up..."

She said this through gritted teeth, the light from her computer screen reflecting off her fangs quite menacingly. Just from her enraged expression and dramatic pauses, Dennis could tell that something had definitely gone wrong.

The scientific officer would soon learn just how much of an understatement that was.

"He? Who's he?" Dennis inquired.

"Let me start from the beginning, sir," the vulpine responded, clearly intending to rant and get stuff of her chest. He didn't mind.

"First of all, I am First Lieutenant Teresa Greaves. Colonel Grey sent me to lead the ground troops in our attack against Area 51.

"Things were going superbly. The barracks had been bombed out quite easily, along with their primitive anti-aircraft weapons. Can you believe they still use radar and infrared guided missiles? Pathetic!"

It didn't surprise Dennis that much at all. If these humans were still using kinetic weapons, then it wasn't too much of a stretch to conceive such primitive missile technology as well. Still, he noted it down grimly, knowing it made the warmonger's job so much simpler.

"Moving on, see this building I'm in?" The fennec fox turned to the side, revealing a room full of reserved soldiers, broken computers, and smashed desks. "This was the last building left to clean out. At first, it was quick work. The few humans in this room were barely armed, if at all, and they knew nothing about basic combat skills. They fell rapidly and easily."

"One of the sergeants sent two of his men to check this office up here," Greaves explained as she rotated the camera towards it. Dennis saw a square room jutting out from the domed ceiling. A line of four windows was on the wall closest to him; one of them was completely busted out, and another's bottom half was ajar. "That was mistake number one."

"Mistake number two"—she started counting off on her left paw—"was this. When the rest of their squad tried to confirm the securing of this office, all they got was radio silence. Instead of reacting almost instantly by checking it out themselves, they just waited!"

The pain of the memory was clearly showing now, through both her hostile tone of voice and her jerky body language. It only served to reaffirm Dennis' stance on the whole ordeal.

"Goddamnit, I was there! I could have ordered it myself! But no, I was too busy assuming the best and getting ready to send the 'captured' signal!" There were tears now; she did her best to hide them, but her tan fur revealed them all too well.

"Lieutenant, calm down and take a breath," Dennis said in as calming as a voice as he could muster. The black cat had never been too good at consolation, but he gave an effort worthy of an A-plus. "What's done is done. Even though you wish you could redo it, the fact is that's not possible. There's no use in dwelling on it."

Those sentences came out much colder than he had hoped. He mentally slapped himself for sounding just like the commanders he loathed so much, and it took all of his self-control to not physically slap himself as well.

"I'm sorry about that...Please, continue."

"Right..." she sniffled, building her composure back up. "So after that dire oversight, this human starts opening fire on us from those windows! Those of us who noticed dropped prone, but we were few and far between because the guy was smart enough to silence his weapon. Without any sound, the only way to know was to see one of our own die.

"The damned human was also quick at aiming. In fact, exactly seven troops fell before we were able to suppress his fire."

Greaves thought about mentioning the one corporal who literally stood in front of his dead comrade, bitter tears rolling down his muzzle as he loyally guarded the fallen Cornerian. Dennis looked hurt enough watching her own face as she told the story, though, and she decided against it. She did make a mental note to comfort that poor canine, and perhaps give him a day of rest or two.

"Mistake number three," the lieutenant continued. "The flash-bang. A full group of sixteen was sent to end this human's rampage as quickly as possible. After melting through his barricaded door with their rifles, for some reason, they tossed a flash-bang into the room. Why they did it, I'll never know. They could have just as easily thrown a plasma grenade into the room and blown the human into bits with one move and no more casualties.

"Instead, for whatever screwed-up reason, they threw in said flash-bang and tried to surround him. However, the human had been hiding in a corner, and had started shooting blindly once the flash-bang had gone off. That left two more dead."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Dennis suddenly blurted. He couldn't believe he hadn't remembered this sooner. "But what about our shields? They didn't do anything against the human's weapon?"

"Not a thing. Our shields and his projectiles ignored each other completely."

_Shit...I was afraid of that..._

"Anyway, we only got him when he realized he was cornered and outnumbered and had tried to escape by jumping out of that window. Even at that, he almost got away because he stole the armor and shield off of one of his kills.

"In short, one human took out eleven of our own. God knows we're screwed if there are many more humans as skilled as him."

Dennis raised his eyebrows and nodded, visibly showing just how much he agrees with the fennec's last statement. The feline knew of the eight billion human population on the planet they were attempting to invade. The Lylatian force was barely a hundred thousand, with reinforcements to come as they captured the enemy's bases.

The cat knew just how heavily they were relying on their technology, the element of surprise, and the element of fear to win this war, even though no one wanted to mention it. At their current numbers, even if each Lylatian soldier took out ten thousand humans, there would still be seven billion more to take their place.

That would be a lot of dead Lylatians with nothing to show for it.

"Damn, I almost wish I could talk to this human," the feline started wondering out loud. "I'd like to ask him what those probes were about, how he got so skilled, and maybe, just maybe, use him to convince Pepper to end this war before it comes to naught."

"Well, you can. If he ever wakes up, that is," Greaves said almost offhandedly, like it was of no significance that this human survived such an encounter.

"Wait, you mean he's still alive?!" Dennis asked incredulously. He was amazed at the chance that his ramblings could actually become reality.

"Barely. He took three laser bolts in pretty important locations; if their anatomy is anything like ours, I'd say all three of them his vital organs. If it weren't for the sheer energy and heat of our weapons cauterizing most of the severed blood vessels, he would have died almost instantly."

"I see." The proverbial hamster wheel started turning between Dennis' ears. It was one thing to invade to kill, but to have actually taken a prisoner, and such an important one at that...only a single word described it.

_Unprecedented._

Suddenly, quicker than lightning, opportunity was before the feline. He needed to waste no time in grabbing it, for he knew for every minute that passed, the price in credits and the price in life reached new heights. His only hurdle, though, was General Pepper.

"Uh, Greaves, was it?"

The fox nodded in confirmation.

"I'd like you to prepare the prisoner for a medical transport. I need to run this idea by the general first, but hopefully I can get this human up to this flagship, heal him back up, and actually go through with what I said earlier."

"Major Joseph, I hope to God you succeed. It's barely lasted a half-hour, but I already realize how pointless this all is. Good luck."

"Call me Dennis, please. I hate that formal name."

The vulpine smiled quickly at Dennis before walking out of frame to pass along the order.

The black cat leaned back in his chair once more. His heterochromic eyes stared at the door separating him from Pepper. Dread plainly leaked from his expression; he didn't want to go in there again. The past couple hours taught him to hate Pepper, Schodek, Freimont, every last one of them to their graves.

The only one Dennis had any leniency for was Solberg. She was their conscience, the angel sitting on their shoulder, the voice of peace personified. And along with her, that voice, that conscience, that angel, they couldn't speak themselves freely. Always drowned out by the Devil or always stumbling over their words, they were never given a chance, sent to rot in a dark corner while the "strong men" did "what must be done."

_Nothing feeding off revenge can ever be strong, _Dennis thought, remembering a lesson life had taught him ever since his first day of primary school.

Forcing himself to recall why he needed to talk to that "strong man", he took the three steps required and knocked on the door.

"Yes?" came the bored voice from within.

"It's Joseph, sir. I have some...interesting news."

"What's that, Joseph?" the general spoke, leaving the door shut.

"They've got a prisoner, sir. And from what I've gathered, a rather important one at that. I'd like your..."—Dennis did his best to keep the hate out of his voice here—"_advice..._on what to do with him."

"Very well, you may enter," came the reply, then the sound of an electronic lock opening itself. The door slid open on its own, revealing Pepper's familiar office. The holographic map was still on the far wall, completed this time, of course. Pepper was still behind his desk, but Dennis barely cared when he noticed the five darts lined up neatly to the general's right. A quick flick of the eyes revealed a dart board hung up on the wall adjacent to the door.

_Playing darts while your own men die. Dear God, how can you sleep at night?!_

"So, Joseph, tell me about this prisoner," Pepper said calmly, leaning forward in his chair.

Dennis told the general the whole story. He made sure to stress the critical nature of the human's injuries and his exploits against the invading Lylatians, and if Pepper's facial expressions were any guide, he did that job quite well. As he talked, he watch the general's emotions go from mildly curious, to quite interested, to disgusted, to enraged. It was one of the only things he managed to savor during the entire conversation.

"So there you have it. I asked Greaves to get this prisoner ready for transport. I can have him up here very soon as long as you give the word."

"You have it," the general replied almost immediately. "Get this human up here now. I'll make sure the two of us have a little…_talk_…"

The sadistic frown on Pepper's face made Dennis's spirits floor. The feline could easily tell the general wanted nothing to do with peace, prisoner or no prisoner. And as for the human, he could tell a horrible fate awaited him aboard the LSS Jericho. Horrible, indeed.

Dennis hung his head and started taking slow steps towards the door. Right as he was about to leave, he made eye contact with Pepper over his shoulder.

"I still don't agree with this. I hope you know that," he said flatly. He didn't even know why he decided to say it. Perhaps he just thought it needed to be said.

Whatever the reason, the general seemed to have been expecting it.

"I know. But it's reality now. Even with your illogical reservations, you're doing a fine job right now. Keep it up," is how he replied, trying to defuse the bomb within Dennis before it was armed.

He wouldn't give in, though.

"Oh, so now it's illogical to be thinking about the lives we could save by just letting this go?"

"If they're using the kind of weapons you've just described, than this will be a walk in the park for us."

"And what if there are more soldiers like this prisoner, huh? Will that really be the walk in the park you so desire?" Dennis' tone was starting to rise as he fought the next battle in his war against Pepper.

"Luckily, that doesn't seem to be the case. Now leave, Dennis, that's an order," the general spoke sharply, trying to disengage from said battle.

"No," the feline countered, feeling defiant. "There is something very wrong with your reasoning here, Pepper, and I'm getting sick of it. Leave this obviously underdeveloped planet alone and go back to Corneria already!"

"How long will it take you to realize I'm not doing this just for me?!" Pepper shot back, fire burning in his narrowed eyes. "What happened to _your _loyalty to Lance, hmm? Don't you want to feel like you've made up for that loss? And what about Fox? And all of the citizens back home losing their loved ones as we speak? How do you think they would react if we came back and said, 'Oh, we were winning easily, our victory was assured, but we came back because one of our officers had minor moral objections'? They'd want all of our heads on a pike! So how about you think about the big picture before coming to selfish conclusions, alright? Is that so hard for you? Because I know that the people back home want this blood to spill just as much as anyone else, and I won't deny them the opportunity."

Dennis scanned his superior, unimpressed with the arguments he just gave. He felt like the general was a broken record, giving the same "avenge the dead" excuse every single time the feline brought up his very correct observations. It wasn't worth it to try to have an intelligent discussion with Pepper anymore. He was too far gone.

Dennis had one last sentence to speak before he left, though.

"Are you sure you're not just describing yourself?" he said calmly before stepping through the door and out of sight.

/\\\\\\\\\\

Eastern Nebraska

"How far to target?" Alyssa Trent asked over the communications system.

"60 miles and closing fast," Caleb Canis responded after a quick glance to his monitor.

Area 51 had been conquered. The whole of the Lylatian army sent to the system was being brought to the surface through that base ship by ship. Meanwhile, those who came down for the initial attack were being methodically sent out, spreading like a disease to any and every military base they could find. Some they laid waste to. Some they took over just like in Nevada.

Either way, every time, they won.

Caleb's squad, the Husky unit, had been part of the initial attack. They had been the group that had bombed out the barracks in one foul swoop. The Siberian husky still remembered the ease at which it had been performed, thanks mostly to their companion squad, the Bulldogs. They had been the ones taking out the anti-aircraft weapons.

There was still a chill, an air of foreboding about it, though. Caleb had no trouble identifying it, either, because it had just been that obvious.

This was _too _easy.

As cliché as that line sounded in his head, he knew it was true. Aside from that one pesky human that had apparently taken out ten or so Lylatians by himself, the resistance had been slim to none. Caleb's people were the current burning though the short-circuited wire that was Planet 77-3.

That generic name seemed to have lost its flavor among the canine's comrades, though. Most of them were just using the human's name for it now: Earth.

Caleb snapped his brain back into the cockpit of his fighter and took another look around. He, Alyssa, and the rest of Husky unit were trailing behind Bulldog unit at the moment as they streaked towards their target. Even farther in front of them were the three lonely Arwings that currently made up Star Fox.

They all had the same target, though. Some city called Omaha. To the commanders, however, it wasn't just some city. If the Lylatians were successful, and it seemed that that would be the case given previous events, it would house the largest surface-side base after Area 51.

Eppley Airfield was its name.

The plan was simple. Star Fox and Bulldog unit would lay waste to the city itself while Husky unit commandeered said base. Good as gold, it seemed.

Caleb somehow knew, in the back of his mind, that something would go wrong. Somehow. Somewhere. Whether it was another hell-bent, murderous human, or just another chilling sight like that lone guy escaping from the rubble of the barracks and bolting off towards the only unconquered building in that desert complex...the husky didn't want to think about it.

It was hard not to, though. The scenery in this area—or rather, the complete lack of it—was mind-numbing. There was no new visual input besides the green, turning to yellow crop fields below him and the clear blue sky above. No new audio input except the constant hum of the plasma engines around him. His pawpads felt the same old yoke, his tail, the same old sideways curl. There was nothing new but those very familiar, stunningly clear memories replaying themselves right behind his eyes.

He looked to his left at Alyssa's plane. He saw through the fuselage and at his dearest panther's expression. He wondered if she was thinking the very same thing.

Oh, how Caleb suddenly wished none of this was happening! Suddenly, he'd give everything just to have this day going as he had planned for months on end! The entire base could have been celebrating their engagement by now, but no! Some crackpot skinfag race had to irradiate a few hundred million people, and now they were thousands of light-years away bombing the hell out of this race instead of popping corks off of bottles of champagne!

_Fuck it all. When this is over, I'm fucking done with the military, and I'm taking Alyssa with me, marriage or no marriage._

Little did he know just how much heartache this war was actually saving him.

/\\\\\\\\\\\

Alyssa let herself relax a little as she, her wingman Caleb, and the rest of the Omaha attack group barreled on towards their target. And that's all she and the husky were. Wingmen. Pilots who worked together. Nothing else.

The purple-furred panther was certain there were more glamorous ways to stall Caleb's love train, but she was willing to take what she could get.

She was one of those indifferent soldiers, one of those who was willing to do as she was ordered, no questions asked, go to sleep at the end of a day, and repeat the cycle over and over. Sure, she knew why they were invading, but she couldn't care less. Wars were for winning, and that's what she planned to do.

Apparently, wars were also for delaying heartbreaking news, too, but that was just an added benefit.

Alyssa also noticed the lack of scenery around their position, but it didn't bother her near as much as she figured it bothered Caleb. The husky she had once loved wasn't nearly as good as she was at letting the little disturbances of life fade out of memory. The feline barely remembered that man that managed to survive the destruction of his sleeping quarters, and even if she could, why dwell on it? The human got lucky, just like that prisoner that took ten or eleven lives with a fit of random lucky shots.

She glanced over at Caleb's ship, at the husky's strangely angered expression. Something had really been bothering the hell out of him lately, ever since they got the word to deploy back at Katina-North. The panther vaguely wondered what was keeping that canine's temper at a fever pitch.

_Maybe he's just one of those people who doesn't agree with this war,_ Alyssa pondered. _I overheard Bill talking about some cat really high up who absolutely hates all of this._

Alyssa immediately tossed that explanation into the trash bin. Caleb was the farthest thing from a political activist she could think of. The only thing he felt strongly about was his sadly misguided love for her.

Make no mistake, she truly would feel bad about letting Caleb go. It had been three years to the date since they had started seeing each other, and she would admit privately that there were still some feelings buried deep inside her. The shovel that had dug the hole, though, was Caleb's overbearing nature.

On top of that, the husky was someone you just can't look at when he's sad. The way it just gets written all over his face, the body language, the lack of a happy aura will have you crying right along with him if you're not extremely careful. It only made the news that much harder to break.

That said nothing about Caleb when he's angry. She couldn't find any sense in it, no matter how hard she tried. It was almost impossible for that canine to get angry at anything for five minutes, much less through an entire night and into the day. No explanation showed itself for his blind fury.

Unless...

_Oh my God, does he know? Does he know I'm gonna break us up?!_

That possibility stuck her like a sack of bricks in hyper gravity. It would explain everything from his continued rage to his indifference and complete avoidance of her.

_But how? How could he find out? I've never told another living soul about this plan!_

She knew that was a true statement, and yet it did nothing to calm her sudden fear. Caleb _had _to know. He _had _to. Nothing else could possibly make sense of the husky's behavior.

Maybe he was more perceptive than he let on. Maybe she was easier to read than she thought. Maybe one of her friends had somehow found out, and had thought that warning Caleb would have made it easier for him to let her go.

Maybe...Maybe...Maybe...the list went on and on in her head, coiling around itself and then stretching out as possibilities began to overlap. She tried to refocus herself back to flying, but then the list just kept on writing itself on the back of her retinas.

Distant, thinned out suburbs began to appear beneath the Husky squadron. They were close.

The butterflies in her stomach were no longer helpless butterflies, but vicious animals working to bust out of a flimsy cage. It ate away at her insides like the strongest hunger. And although there wasn't much time left to ponder it, the list would keep on going, and the animals would keep on clawing beneath the surface of Alyssa Trent.

"Huskies, Bulldogs," Falco Lombardi broadcasted to the fighter groups. "Your weapons are free, repeat, weapons are free."

* * *

_**Emile The Watcher: ****Always nice to hear from you, man. Glad you've been keeping up. And if it suits you, root for Falco. I don't have a problem with that at all.**_

_**Order and Chaos - Qui Iudicant: **__**There are plenty more human characters to pick up the slack, even though Dimon's not *actually* dead. Just be patient.**_

_**Aldric von Osterbach: My, you're certainly the poster boy for the Geneva Convention, aren't you? ;3  
**_


End file.
